A Matter of Honour
by Spectral Sereda
Summary: Thirty years after Kain's rise to power, a new Sarafan Lord is appointed. This story tells the tale of the ensuing conflict. Chapters 6 & 7 are up. Back among the Sarafan. Chapter 7 now revised and with review responses
1. Chapter 1 Shame

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**Author's note.**

_This is probably still a bit rough in places; I've only been working on it since last November! *laughs* I could definitely take the record for writing slowly! There might still be a few errors and inconsistencies, if so, please point them out to me and I will do my best to correct them._

_It's a bit darker than my last story, and I'm not too sure how long it will be. As long as necessary, I guess. As to things that might possibly give offence, let me see…  So far, we have:  lots of violence, torture, blasphemy, bad language and very bad attitudes (the usual, in other words) and some hints of yaoi as well._

_Oh yeah, The Disclaimer, Kain, Raziel, Rahab, the Sarafan etc., belong to Eidos. Anyone you haven't heard of before, Ayden, Talia, etc., almost certainly belongs to me, and this story is written for fun, not profit. _

_Enjoy please, and tell me what you think._

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**A Matter of Honour **

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** 1 Shame **

It was a mild autumn evening in the city of Meridian. An evening destined to be marked by mistakes and misadventure.

The Sarafan soldiers patrolling the old dock-lands on the City outskirts are relaxed and off their guard tonight. Even the older ones amongst them, men who really should know better than to relax anywhere where there is a possibility of meeting vampires, are taking less care than they should. They talk loudly as they make their way along the broad cobbled streets, laughing and joking beneath the moonlit sky, heedless of the noise they are making and keeping only half-an-eye on the shadowy terrain that surrounds them. It has grown too familiar, perhaps. They have been patrolling this area for weeks now, but they have seen only sporadic vampire activity, and the few skirmishes they have engaged in, have all ended in easy victory. Most of the vampires they have met, have beaten a hasty retreat as soon as the Sarafan have drawn their weapons.

 As they make their way past the broken shells of the old warehouses, the Sarafan know they have little to fear. If any of Kain's demon-spawn are out there, they will kill them, as simple as that, for the new vampires are proving themselves to be weak and easy prey, despite the trouble they seem to be giving their comrades in other areas of Nosgoth. 

Complacency, is their mistake. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Watching them from the heights of a ruined building, the vampire Ayden, smiles. 

Like lambs to the slaughter_,_ he thinks delightedly as he watches the Sarafan making their way into an area where they can be easily contained. With the Dumahim lying in wait ahead of them, and his own Rahabim warriors behind him, the outcome is certain. Tonight, nothing can go wrong. Tonight he will be able to return to his Lord and report that the whole patrol has been wiped out at a single stroke, and he is sure he will be well rewarded for his efforts. 

In a way, complacency, is his mistake too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as the Sarafan see the Dumahim storming towards them, they break ranks. The order is given to stand and fight, but most of these soldiers are young and inexperienced. Instinctively, they know their only chance of survival is to run, but unfortunately, there is nowhere left for them to run to. Even as they turn to flee, the Rahabim are sweeping over the tops of the buildings, gliding down to land silently in the road before them and cutting off their only means of escape. They are trapped. 

The silence is the eeriest thing of all. As the panicked youths retreat slowly back towards their comrades, the vampires simply stand and watch them. The Sarafan edge closer together, forming themselves into a loose defensive position, and still the vampires hold back, their eyes glowing faintly red as they wait for the order to be given. Counting the red points in the darkness, the soldiers can see they are outnumbered. 

"Oh my God!" One of the youths gasps. "There must be at least twenty of them!" His hand tightens around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles are white and aching. With the other hand, he clutches the cross he wears around his neck, holding it so tightly that the points are breaking through the skin of his palm. 

The vampires can smell his blood, and even a small amount such as this, is enough to awaken the thirst. Their eyes gleam bright in anticipation, and Ayden silently repeats his order for them to stand fast.

The boy is in such a deep panic, that he doesn't even know he had spoken aloud; he can't feel the cross digging into his hand either, or the blood that is trickling slowly into his palm. All his attention is focused on the darkness in front of him and the horrors that lie in wait. Horrors made far worse by the fact that they are barely discernable from the shadows of the buildings. One of his comrades digs him sharply in the ribs.

"Shut up!" He hisses. "You mustn't let them see you're afraid." 

A low, rasping chuckle comes from the blackness in front of them. Every man present feels the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to rise. The soldiers tense, each one looking toward the direction of the sound. Silence reigns once more, broken only by their breathing, harsh and frightened. They wait, each one of them straining to listen, straining to hear anything above the frantic beating of his heart. Until, finally, a voice breaks the silence, a voice with all the qualities of a knife ripping through silk. 

"We **know** you are afraid, Sarafan," says the voice. "Every one of you is afraid. This place stinks with your fear."

A muttered curse from somewhere in the ranks of the Sarafan, and a swift flutter of fingers as two of the soldiers cross themselves, and then, the waiting is over. Ayden gives the order and the vampires advance.

It is a short battle and a brutal one.

The Dumahim are armed with axes and heavy swords, while the Rahabim are armed with lighter weapons but their effect is no less devastating, for what they lack in weight, they more than make up for in speed. Vampires from both clans leap into the fray with enthusiasm, their orders being to maim and mutilate the bodies of their foes as much as possible, for Lord Kain has taught them this is the way to demoralize their enemy and to keep fear paramount in the mind of every Sarafan soldier.

For weeks, these vampires have been ordered to hold back, even to retreat in the face of the enemy. Now, there are no such restrictions. Now, they are allowed to indulge their instincts to their fullest and most violent extent, and they do. 

At one point in the battle, Ayden looks up to find that he and Berrin, one of Lord Dumah's warriors, both have hold of the same Sarafan soldier, disarmed and wounded but still very much alive.

"Mine, I think," says Ayden, digging his claws deeper into the unfortunate soldier's body. The soldier cries out piteously and a satisfyingly warm stream of blood gushes over Ayden's fingers. Berrin shakes his head and starts to dig his claws in deeper too. For a moment, they look at each other, neither of them prepared to yield, and then, a fiendish grin spreads across both their faces as the same idea suddenly occurs to them; simultaneously, both of the vampires begin to pull.

The Sarafan put up some resistance at first, but they are outnumbered and outclassed and the terrible lure of the thirst gives their enemies a viciousness that is almost impossible to imagine. As the Sarafan begin to die, and the survivors see the terrible manner in which most of their comrades have met their end, the humans begin to lose hope, and without hope, they are lost.

It is merely a matter of minutes later that Ayden and Berrin find themselves in possession of the field, both of them deeply satisfied with their night's work. They have suffered no losses, and besides a few surface wounds, most of which will heal in no time, their warriors are unharmed. No one has been killed and no one will need to be carried back to their encampment. The raid has been a complete success. 

Slowly, Ayden drains the last of the Sarafan he has killed. The adrenaline-charged blood of the soldier is intoxicating; his eyes flame scarlet, as he revels in the ecstasy of the feast. When he is finished, he drops the corpse at his feet, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and looks over to Berrin, who is standing with the rest of the Dumahim warriors. As soon as he catches his eye, Ayden extends a bloodied hand towards him. Immediately, Berrin comes over to take it, clasping it in a firm gesture of friendship between hands that are equally gory. They slap each other across the back, looking with pleasure at the carnage that surrounds them, and then they both break into broad grins. 

"Perfect!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, Ayden and his party of Rahabim warriors return to their encampment, a cluster of large, sturdy tents made from deer-hide, hidden deep in the southernmost reaches of the Termagant forest. 

Ayden lifts the flap of his sire's tent and walks in. The interior is luxurious, as befits the accommodation of a Clan Lord, though it is but sparsely furnished and everything is designed to be quickly and easily packed away, for the purpose of these tents is simply to provide a base from which to oversee operations, not to provide the vampires with permanent shelter. Ayden walks over the deep carpet that covers the ground and drops to one knee by the desk where his sire is sitting, idly turning over a few maps of the city and the surrounding area. Then he stands up and waits for his lord to acknowledge him.

Rahab stops dead as Ayden rises, a single leaf of paper still held between his fingers. The pale blue eyes are raised to Ayden's face, but otherwise he does not move.

"Where have you been?" Rahab asks softly.

All the euphoria of the raid drains away in an instant and Ayden's mouth goes suddenly dry. Despite the mildness of his tone, there is no mistaking the anger in his lord's voice. He opens his mouth to reply, but no sound comes out. Ayden swallows and makes a second attempt.

"I have been out on patrol Sire, as you ordered."

"And **where**, were you out on patrol Ayden?" Rahab does not raise his voice but this question is loaded with quiet menace.

Ayden leans forward and hesitantly places his finger on the map in front of Rahab. "And where **should** you have been?" Ayden moves his finger several inches to the left. Rahab looks at him. "Are you going to offer me an explanation for this?"

"We ran into a Sarafan patrol Sire."

"Here." Says Rahab, pointing to the exact location of their battle with the Sarafan. "And what were your orders concerning this area?"

"To…Well…To stay out." Says Ayden. But we saw them entering that place three nights ago and we kept track of them every night since. They took the same route every time, and tonight, we followed them in. We couldn't take them out here, where they passed us first," he explains, "There was nowhere to set up an ambush. But here," indicating the map, "it was a different story. It was just too good an opportunity to miss, Sire! They were asking for it, they were so careless! We knew at once we'd be able to take them down. And we did, we absolutely slaughtered them!"

"So I heard." says Rahab. He leans back in his chair and looks down for a moment. "You don't know what you've done, do you?" He asks, when he looks up. "You have no idea how dearly you have cost me this night. No," he corrects himself, "not **just** me. How dearly you have cost all of us."

"Sire?"

Rahab is on his feet and out from behind the table faster than Ayden can register. Ayden is just in the process of taking a step backwards when his sire's fingers close tightly around his throat.

"Did you think we didn't know about that patrol?" Rahab hisses furiously, his claws tearing into Ayden's skin as he pulls him closer. A cold trickle of blood starts to make its way down Ayden's neck, seeping slowly into the shirt under his mail. "What do you think we have been doing here for the past few months?" Rahab asks him. "Playing hide and seek with these vermin, day after day. Deliberately letting them believe they have the upper hand. 

The Sarafan have appointed a new lord, the same arrogant bastard from Stahlberg who lost me nearly a quarter of my clan six months ago. He is due to arrive in Meridian tomorrow, and the day after he arrived, this new Sarafan Lord was expected to go out on patrol around the city. It is a tradition among them, a gesture to demonstrate their superiority and raise moral among the troops and the commoners, but of course, he would only be allowed to patrol in a safe area." He slaps the map with his free hand, giving Ayden a little shake as he speaks. "A safe area such as the one Dumah and I have spent the past three months establishing **here**!"

Horrified, Ayden begins to realize the enormity of his mistake. "Do you think the Sarafan will regard this as a safe area now?" Rahab asks, his claws leaving Ayden's throat as suddenly as they had grasped it. Ayden puts a hand up to his lacerated skin and shakes his head slowly; he dare not even speak. "No! Says Rahab. "Neither do I!" He strides towards the entrance of the tent. "Just tell me," he asks, before he leaves, "whose idea this was? Yours, or that damned fool of Dumah's?"

"It was mine Sire. I take full responsibility." 

Rahab shakes his head in disgust. "And to think I trusted you!" He says bitterly and then he walks out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rahab stands at the entrance to the tent, his eyes aflame, twin points of scarlet, blazing into the misty darkness. Never before, has he come quite so close to killing one of his own. Slowly, he manages to bring his rage under some semblance of control. He looks down; his fists are clenched tight in frustration. He had so very much wanted to see this particular Sarafan Lord dead. Deliberately, he stretches out his fingers and takes a slow, deep breath. 

It's a mess, he realizes, and there is no possible way of rescuing the operation. Not after this. Months of planning, all brought to ruin in less than an hour by a couple of over-zealous fledglings! Rahab purses his lips together grimly, as he thinks of what he will have to tell his brother Zephon. The Zephonim have been gathering information on the Sarafan patrol routes for months now, something that has been done at great risk and not without losses to the Zephonim clan. The entire plan had been Zephon's idea in the first place. When he hears that all his efforts have come to naught through their incompetence, he is going to be livid. 

And after Zephon, Rahab will have to face Kain. Dumah and he had hoped to bring the Sarafan Lord's head to their Sire. Kain has already collected three, one by his own hand and two from Raziel. It would have been sweet to have brought him the fourth before Turel had given him anything, but now, they'll have nothing to offer their sire, except for this mess, of course.

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Inside the tent, Ayden stands and waits, but his lord does not return. He hears Rahab giving the order for the clan to start moving out and he steps out of the tent looking around anxiously and wondering what he should do now. It is as if he is not even there. News of his disgrace has spread throughout the clan and none of his brethren so much as speaks to him. The camp is packed up around him, and then the Rahabim begin to make their way back to the Cathedral that Rahab has recently chosen to be his headquarters. Ayden follows them, still firmly ostracised by everyone, even by those who had accompanied him on this evenings raid. Despondently, he makes his way to the basement rooms. He lies awake for a time, alone in the crypt where he usually rests, thinking with some trepidation, of what might lie store for him the next evening and wondering what punishment Rahab will decree for his disobedience.

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It is worse than he could ever have imagined.

As soon as the sun goes down, he is awoken and taken from the casket where he has slept. The entire clan has assembled to see him brought before their Lord. He is led up the aisle and then pushed roughly down to his knees before Rahab, who is standing on the raised platform that once held the altar. Every vampire present averts their eyes from him, for every one of them knows the favoured son is favoured no longer, and no one wishes to be associated with his disgrace. After his crimes have been read out, Rahab steps forward. He strips Ayden of his cloak, his weapons and his armour, everything in fact that ties him to his clan.

"This vampire is no longer Rahabim." Rahab announces, breaking his sword as he speaks. "He has brought shame and dishonour to our clan. From this day forward, he is no son of mine! The name of Ayden shall be erased from the roll. Take him to the cells!" He orders. 

Numb with shock, Ayden is led down to the dungeons, walking between two fledglings who won't even look at him, fledglings who would have been proud to call him brother the night before. He is put into a large square cell; his wrists are manacled and he is chained to the wall with a long stout chain, and then, they leave him alone.

For a long time, he does nothing. He just stands in the darkness wondering why it is that he is still alive, and wondering also if it might be better that he were not. As night begins to turn to day, he notices that the cell appears to be getting lighter. In horror, Ayden turns around, examining the walls for tell-tale patches of brightness, but the cell does not appear to have any windows. The waning darkness is a complete mystery. Then, he looks up; a small, circular patch of light is clearly visible above his head. The cell has a skylight!

From the moment the first ray of watery sunlight seeps above the horizon, sleep becomes impossible, or at least sleep, as Ayden has known it until now. At dawn, the walls of the cell are still deep in shadow. Terrified, Ayden huddles into a corner, his fear fighting with his body's insistence that it needs sleep, but sleep he must. 

The Sun is not strong this day. Thick rain clouds and mist obscure almost all of its brightness, but as it tracks its course across the sky, it's weak light pushes the shadows around the room and Ayden is forced to move with them. 

Repeatedly, he is goaded awake, his skin blistering, as the light grows in intensity, and his eyes in agony from the brightness, despite his efforts to shield them with his arms. The chain allows him to reach all but one corner of the cell, and that is enough to give him some protection, but even so, by the time the Sun goes down, he has been badly burnt and because he has not fed, these wounds heal extremely slowly. 

When the chill, damp air of night finally pervades his cell, he stretches out full length across the flags, staring up unseeingly, at the stars. The cold stones soothe his hurts, but his burns are only just healed by morning, and then, the torture begins all over again.

As the days slip by, and Ayden soon learns to measure time by days rather than nights, he falls into a routine. He curls up to sleep in a corner where he will be safe from the early morning sun, dozing fitfully until he is aroused by the stinging sensation of his flesh being burned by the light. Then, he crawls deeper into the shadows, where he falls unconscious again, until the pain reawakens him and he is forced to move once more, this miserable process being repeated over and over again, until finally, the sun goes down. 

He has not fed since his ill-fated raid upon the Sarafan, and each night his wounds take a little longer to heal. At the end of three weeks, his body is covered in burns and sores. Even worse, he is tormented almost constantly by the thirst. In desperation, he turns upon himself, tearing his own flesh with his fangs in a futile attempt to satisfy his need for blood, but all he manages to do is to add to his wounds, and if anything, the thirst is more intense than ever. By the end of the fourth week, he is almost completely blind. If he had the courage, he thinks, he would walk into the light and end it, but he can't, the instinct to survive is too strong within him. 

He wonders how long it would take for him to die from starvation. He is Rahab's first-born, thirty years old, just like his sire, and he is considered strong for his age. It could take months, he realizes. But, it is unlikely to be the hunger that kills him. When the weather breaks and the Sun is no longer obscured by clouds, even the farthest corners of the cell will not be shaded deep enough to save him. The Rahabim have always been particularly vulnerable to sunlight and Ayden knows, even in winter, an hour of full noonday sunlight would be more than enough to kill him. 

Either way, He is doomed. Whether it is by slow starvation or by a searing burst of light, Ayden knows he is going to die here, locked in this cell, forgotten and alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the key turns in the lock, later that evening, Ayden doesn't even look up. He knows it is night time but he cannot see who it is that enters the cell. His eyes are so damaged now, that the only purpose they serve is to add to his misery. Even in the dark, the pain from them stabs at him constantly. There is a sharp hiss of breath as whoever it is, catches sight of him and then the manacles are unlocked. 

"Somebody help me here!" A voice orders and another vampire enters the cell. 

"Rohan?" He asks, turning towards the one who had spoken, but there is no reply. His arms are put across their shoulders and Ayden is half-carried, half-dragged out of the cell. 

The vampires take him to a room and he is laid upon a bed of some sort. There is a strange, almost chemical, taint to the air, he notices. Someone helps him to a sitting position and he is fed blood from a cup. He drinks gratefully, the torment of the thirst at last receding, though the small amount they give him is not enough to subdue it completely. When the cup is taken from his lips, his head is laid back onto the pillows. Ayden lies quiet while something cool is placed across his eyes and then bandaged lightly into place. Then, he is turned onto his side and the sores and burns that cover his skin are salved and dressed, a painful process in itself, though the hands that touch him are gentle and do not seek to augment his pain. No one speaks to him and Ayden doesn't attempt to speak to them, he is not even sure if there is anything left, that he wants to say. 

When they have finished tending him, he lies back. He hurts all over and he is weary to the bone, too weary to ask why he has been taken from his cell. Too weary even, to wonder much about it, himself. He simply lies there passively, waiting for sleep to take him, so his body can begin the slow process of healing itself.

The next evening, he is fed again and then the bandages are removed from his eyes.

"Can you see me?" A voice asks. "Can you see anything? Anything at all?"

Ayden slowly opens his eyes; they still hurt, and for a moment, the pain is all he is aware of, but he can discern a patch of brightness somewhere ahead of him, though he can't make out what it is.

"I can see something there," he says, pointing to the light. "But that's all. Everything is blurred."

The bandages are replaced and Ayden is fed once more.

"That's good," says the voice. 

It is Rohan he is sure of it, though he does not seek confirmation again. Rohan was always skilled in the healer's arts. 

"Very good," the voice continues. You should recover, given time." Ayden can hear steps receding away. Suddenly, they stop and then they return, the vampire is standing by his bed again. "I suppose I should warn you." The voice says. "Lord Rahab wishes to see you tomorrow evening."

Rahab wants to see him? Ayden's heart leaps in his breast. Some of his eagerness must have shown in his face, because a hand is laid lightly upon his shoulder.

"I don't know what he wants to see you for," the voice continues gently. "But I wouldn't go getting my hopes up; if you take my meaning."

But he can't help it. His sire wishes to see him. How could he not have hope?

They feed him several more times that evening and as day breaks, Ayden falls into a deep sleep that is almost painless. 

When he awakens, the bandages are again removed from his eyes and this time, they are not replaced. The vampire tending him leaves the room and someone else enters. Although his sight is still extremely blurred, Ayden knows it is Rahab who now stands beside his bed. He would know his sire anywhere.

"They tell me you have every chance of making a full recovery." Rahab says coldly. "Understand, I have ordered you released for only one reason; I have need of you."

Ayden turns his face towards Rahab.

"Sire?"

A sudden flare of pain as Rahab's claws rake across his face. Rahab grips his shoulder and leans in close, his blue eyes glinting furiously.

"Don't you ever presume to call me that!" He hisses. "You have no claim on me! You are a tool, nothing more and I have brought you out so I may use you. You are expendable. My children are not!"

Ayden lies back against the pillows and closes his eyes. Those words have cut him far deeper than Rahab's claws ever could.

"So, what is it you want?" He asks.

"The repercussions of your escapade continue to plague us." Rahab tells him. "The new Sarafan Lord is of a somewhat different quality than those that have gone before. He has succeeded in rallying the humans, and they have had several victories against us in recent weeks. Because of you, I have lost yet more of my clan, and I have lost Zafar."

Ayden's head reels as he takes in this information. Zafar is Rahab's second born, scarcely six months his junior. They had been raised together. "He has been captured." Rahab continues. "And even now, the Sarafan are torturing him in their accursed stronghold.

Ayden swallows. "Is there to be a rescue, attempt?"

Rahab gives a short bitter laugh.

"We are down to forty-nine able-bodied warriors and a handful of half-trained fledglings. What chance do you think we would have? No, no rescue. This requires something more subtle than storming the walls of the keep. As soon as the healer declares you fit, I will give you your orders. If you think you'll be capable of following them this time!"

Rahab strides from the room without waiting to hear his answer, and Ayden is left alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is three more nights before Ayden is declared fit for duty. His sight has recovered and the wounds on his body have also completely healed. At a casual glance, it would appear that nothing untoward has happened to him at all.

When he awakens on the fourth evening, the healer tells him to dress and then to make his way straight to the conference room. Lord Rahab and four of his brothers are already there. He notices his brother Inah, Rahab's third son, has taken the place that was once reserved for him, the seat at Rahab's right hand. As soon as Ayden walks into the room, Inah turns to his sire, his eyes blazing.

"What is** that **doing here, Sire?"

Rahab indicates that Ayden should stand over by the wall. No place has been left for him to sit at the table.

"The spy will play a pivotal role." Rahab explains to Inah. "The Sarafan Lord has sent me a list of his demands. If Zafar is to be released, I will need to enter into negotiations with him and I cannot afford to do that blind; I need reliable information, and at some stage in the future, I shall also be in need of a go-between."

'The spy.' Ayden looks ahead impassively as he ponders the implications of these words. So, that is how his sire regards him now, as something so low, that it does not even merit a name. And the others? He looks around, but at this moment, not one of them will meet his eyes. Finally, Inah looks up, shooting Ayden a particularly baleful stare from beneath brows still drawn together in anger. He settles back in his chair, making the timbers creak in protest as he leans heavily against the backrest.

_'If it was down to me,'_ he whispers, _'you wouldn't even be alive!'_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Ayden receives his orders, he begins to understand why Rahab is unwilling to risk any of the others in this role, and also, why it is that he is in need of a spy. 

Since the incident in the Docklands, Rahab and Zephon have barely been on speaking terms and Zephon has flatly refused to give his brother any aid at all. 

Rahab had approached him, of course; he had to, for no one else has as much information on the Sarafan defences as his brother Zephon. But Zephon had been too annoyed by his request even to be amused.

"Your insistence on total secrecy…" Rahab had begun.

"Was made with good reason! My people do as they are told, without asking questions or needing explanations! Don't try and make excuses, brother. You got yourself into this hole." Zephon had hissed. "Now you can dig yourself out of it!"

Rahab had tried reasoning with him.

"All I am asking you for is information."

But Zephon had only become more incensed. 

"All!" He had cried. "All? How dare you speak as if this is some trivial favour you ask of me? If you could even began to appreciate how hard information is to come by, you would not speak of it so lightly."

"Zephon, please," Rahab had said, his tone placatory, "I do appreciate and value your expertise, believe me." 

Zephon sniffed haughtily. 

"And the last time I gave you something, you simply wasted it." He said. "No, brother. I shall not repeat my mistake. If you do find yourself in need of information, may I suggest that **this** time, you go out there and get it for yourself!"

After this humiliating dismissal, Rahab had known he must rely on his own resources.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The first priority is to find out where Zafar is being held and what condition he is in." Rahab tells them. "That is where you come in." He says, turning to Ayden. "You have the gift of being able to take a mist-form, and with the mild, wet weather we are experiencing at the moment, Meridian is almost permanently fog-bound. I want you to penetrate the Sarafan defences and bring this information back to me. Can you do that?"

Ayden looks at his sire. "Whatever you may think of me, now," he says, "Zafar is still my brother. I will do all in my power to see that he is released."

"You are to leave at once." Rahab tells him with a dismissive nod.

"Unarmed?" Ayden asks, incredulously.

"No, of course not. I want you back alive. Take what you need from the armoury. Anything that doesn't bear my clan insignia that is."

Fortunately, the armoury contains enough plundered Sarafan weapons to give Ayden plenty of choice. He takes a rapier and a dagger, and slips another short knife into his boot. Then he sets about finding Sarafan armour that will actually fit him, not such an easy task, since he is tall, but also lean in build and leanness is not a common trait among the Sarafan. When he is finished, he looks like some strange vampire-Sarafan hybrid. He certainly does not look like a Rahabim warrior. Dressed like this, he realizes, he is going to be in just as much danger from the vampires of the other clans as he is from the Sarafan. None of them are going to know what he is, and in times like these, they are unlikely to waste time asking him questions. 

He walks down to the main doors of the cathedral and they are swung silently open to let him past. There is no one to wish him well and no one to say farewell. As the doors swing shut behind him, Ayden can't help thinking how different things had been, just a few short weeks ago. He sighs deeply, but he knows there is no point in dwelling on what he has lost. Thinking about it, will not bring it back, and neither will it make it easier to bear. Pushing these uncomfortable thoughts aside, Ayden turns his face away from the Rahabim stronghold and makes his way towards the darkened city.


	2. Chapter 2 The Condemned Ate A Hearty Sup...

_A/N__ Well, you asked for it! Since you were all so nice about chapter one, here's another chapter for you to chew on. If you think these chapters  are a bit long, or I'm packing too much into them, please, let me know. As I said, this is a fairly new piece and I'd be the first to admit that I  find it hard to be objective about something I've only just written. In other words criticism is welcome! And probably needed too!  ;)  BTW Fanfiction.net have stated that review response chapters are no longer allowed, so I'll have to cram 'em in the Author's notes at the head of any subsequent chapters. That's it. Enjoy._

**2 The Condemned Ate A Hearty Supper**

Sunset, in the women's quarters of the Sarafan keep in Meridian. 

Talia Locke is combing her hair. She turns away from the tiny, rust-speckled mirror and walks over to the window. The small, leaded panes are encrusted with grime, allowing barely anything of the outside world to be seen. She peers at them for a moment and then rubs at them with her sleeve, but although her sleeve is visibly dirtied, the panes remain stubbornly opaque. Talia opens the casement and leans out. 

A single star hangs suspended in a clear sky of the most delicate blue, which fades down to a pale silvery gold, where it meets the horizon. The day has been unseasonably warm, for November and the stone walls are gently radiating the heat captured from the autumnal sun. Directly below her, in the physic-garden, the bay trees and herb bushes are wafting their perfume into the evening air. Talia inhales deeply. She loves being up here, especially at this time of day. She looks out beyond the walls of the keep. Before her, lies the twilight city, caught in that ambiguous moment between workaday living and the more glamorous, more dangerous world of the night. 

It is a city transformed; an opaque mist is rising up from the harbours and inlets on the outskirts, drawing a discreet veil over those parts that lie on lower ground. The slums, the Smuggler's Den, all those sordid and run-down areas that the city elders would rather forget, are already hidden from her view. Only the houses of the rich can be seen clearly, thin columns of grey smoke rising up from their chimneys, the lights from their windows twinkling against the deepening sky. They rise above the mist like fairy castles afloat in a sea of purest white.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

However, the places concealed by the mist are far from pure. Already, thieves and cutpurses are out plying their trade, taking advantage of the fog as they stalk the unwary. 

A couple of street-girls huddle together in the shadow of the Keep. They shiver in their gaudy finery, muttering about the "Bloody fog," and how hard it is going to be to get custom on a night when they can barely be seen from the other side of the road.

One of the girls turns towards the other. Her thin face is a pallid grey, a tone which contrasts quite startlingly with the colour of her nose, whose redness has been partly caused by exposure to the cold, damp air and also by a fair amount of drink, consumed before she came out. The girl leans forward and studies her companion closely, swaying slightly as she squints up at her. 

"But in your case, Blanche," she says, after a minute. "The fog could work hout to your hadvantage." 

The other woman, who is of altogether more generous proportions, turns towards her. Her face is indeed less than pretty; a livid bruise decorates one entire side of it and her eye is so swollen, that it is almost shut. The whole effect is made more ghastly still, by a heavy application of cheap rouge and powder, with which she has tried to conceal her disfigurement, topped off by a rather unlikely arrangement of blonde curls. "I don't see anyone payin' for that!" The girl continues. "Really I don't. Maybe tonight Blanche, you'll end up hafin' to pay them!" She doubles up in the gutter, shrieking with raucous laughter at her own joke, her shrew-like features looking even more wizened than usual. 

Blanche rolls a ball of spit slowly and deliberately around her mouth, waiting until her companion stands up again. She looks at her for a moment, and then lands it, directly on the front of her skirt. The girl jumps back into the street, rubbing at the stain with her gloves and screaming abuse, her thin face contorted with disgust and rage.

Blanche watches her antics with satisfaction. 

"You should watch yer mouth, Wren." She says sourly, "Or you might be getting' some of the same, yerself."

A third girl in a red dress, walks over hurriedly to join them, the heels of her high-buttoned boots clicking against the cobbles. 

"Shut up!" She whispers fiercely. "Both of you. Shut up! There's things that lurk in the fog that you don' want to meet, an' your yellin' an' cursin' is only goin' to attract 'em!" She pulls her ragged shawl tightly around her shoulders and glares sullenly down the street. Blanche puts a large hand on her shoulder.

"We'll stick together tonight. Eh?" She says kindly.

The girl sniffs. "As if that's goin' to help!" She says sulkily, but she stays close to them, all the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Talia closes the window and turns back into the room. She is being intently watched by another girl sitting on a nearby bunk, a girl, that Talia is trying very hard to ignore. The poor kid is only new and Talia knows she must be feeling scared and homesick, but even so, this hero-worship is really starting to grate on her nerves.

"Fog's getting thicker." Talia says, as much to herself as to the watcher. 

The door to the room bursts open and another girl breezes in. She ruffles Talia's hair playfully as she walks past her, her dark eyes twinkling with merriment. 

"Hey Dorton! Quit that!" Talia snaps, swiping at her with the comb. 

Dorton laughs. "Come off it, Locke! You've hardly any hair to spoil anyway!" 

Talia frowns, she smoothes her cropped hair down with her hands and then flings herself onto her bunk. "What are you doing here anyway?" Dorton asks. "I thought you'd be up country by now. Aren't you supposed to be on leave?" 

Talia raises her eyebrows. "All transport was commandeered earlier, remember?"

Dorton raises an eyebrow. "That was hours ago." She says. "Surely there must be a coach free by now?"

"And obviously, you haven't looked outside any time recently." 

"Fog's got thick, has it?" Dorton asks.

Well, let's put it this way." Talia replies. "I don't think anyone will be heading outside the city walls until it lifts. And that includes me!" She adds brightly.

The girl sitting on the bed smiles nervously.

"I heard they weren't letting anyone out of the city at all for the next few days, unless it's on official business. Too dangerous."

"Even better." Talia smiles. 

"Don't you want to go home?" The girl asks.

Talia rolls over and looks at her. "No, Jay." She says. "I don't! The prospect of spending two whole weeks in the company of my sainted mother is not something I've been looking forward to."

Dorton laughs. "It can't be that bad, Locke."

Talia shakes her head. "But it is! Every time that woman sees me, she trots out another fine prospect she has found to tempt me into a life of wedded bliss, and each one of them is worse than the last. I swear, I did not know such creatures existed!"

"They're not creatures." Dorton explains patiently. "They are called men."

"You haven't seen them!" Talia retorts. "The last one was fifty if he was a day, and he said he'd only consider it if Daddy threw in the bottom field as well! I don't know what was worse, Daddy going on about how he wouldn't want to part with a field that's been in my family for four generations, or my mother, all delighted with the match and ready to sign the deal without so much as a by your leave! Well, she can say what she likes, I signed up till I was twenty five and that's three more years, when they're up, I'm going to sign up for four more."

"That's an awful long time," Jay says. "Are you sure? I mean, wouldn't you like to get married?"

Talia gives her a wry smile. "Not to some old farmer." She says. "And that's all that's on offer."

"What about a soldier then?"

Talia looks at her pityingly. "I do hope you're not serious." She says. "Start sleeping with one of those boys, and as far as most of 'em are concerned, you're just another soldier's whore," She jerks her thumb at the window. "Same as those poor drabs out there, 'cept you're following orders and wearing uniform. Trust me, I know, and I wouldn't choose to repeat the experience, not for anyone. Anyway, soldiers don't get married, it's a well-known fact."

"So, what will you do when you get older? You know, too old to fight."

"Sarafan don't get too old to fight." Talia says. 

Dorton frowns, the other girl is looking distinctly worried now. 

"That's out of order, Locke."

"No, it's the truth. How many old soldiers do you know of?" Talia asks her. "Well?"

Dorton shakes her head. "You may be right, but that's no way to talk, and certainly not in front of the youngster." 

Jay opens her mouth indignantly, but she doesn't say anything. Talia's words have made her think, and she does not like the conclusion to which her thoughts are leading her.

Dorton turns to her. "Look," she says, kindly. "Things are bad now, but it can't stay that way forever. The vampire plague has got to be wiped out some time." Jay smiles back at her, nervously; she is not convinced. 

Dorton shakes her head, she does not want to spend the entire evening in miserable contemplation of just how badly the vampire campaign has been going recently, and unless she does something fast, that's exactly what they will be doing. She puts on a bright smile, one that she does not particularly feel at this moment, and looks at her comrades. "Ladies," She says, "I've a proposal to make. I propose that we pledge, here and now, to be the first Sarafan Soldiers in Meridian to draw the pension." She extends a hand. "All in agreement?" The other two place their hands on hers.

"Agreed!"

"Agreed!"

"And to mark this momentous decision, I suggest we retire to the nearest tavern and drink ourselves into oblivion! Or at least into a better humour." She adds, digging Talia in the ribs. Talia laughs and pulls a crumpled jacket out of her pack.

"Sounds good to me."

They run down the stairs laughing and joking. As they turn into the entrance hall, Jay suddenly lets out a shriek.

"A rat! A rat ran over my foot!"

Talia watches as it scampers away down the corridor.

"Big one too." She says. She pats Jay on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll get used to 'em. This place is crawling with rats!"

Jay shudders.

"When they start chasing the cats, that's when you have to worry." Dorton adds.

"That one looked big enough to do just that!" Jay says shakily.

When they reach the doors, the guard bars their way.

"And where do you think you're going?" He asks.

"Out."

"To the tavern."

"We're on leave."

The guard smirks unpleasantly. "Oh no you ain't."

"Yes we are." Says Talia, "since noon today.

The guard shakes his head. "Uh, uh. All leave is cancelled. By order of the Sarafan Lord hisself. Lord Agrippa seems to think we have all gotten a bit lax recently. Says he's going to tighten things up. Put these vampires down once and for all. So," he bows and makes an extravagant gesture towards the stairs, "if you ladies would like to go upstairs and change into something more suitable, you're out on patrol in approximately five minutes."

"Shit!" Yells Talia. "Seriously?" She grabs Jay's arm, pulling her back towards the stairs. "Come on Jay, Ward'll go bloody mad if we're late." The three girls turn tail and dash back to their quarters, the guard watching them with smug amusement.

A little over five minutes later, they are standing in the courtyard in front of the keep, dressed in their uniforms and carrying their crossbows. Tonight, their squad is to patrol the Industrial Quarter. Each group of soldiers is given their area and then, they move out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the girls are making their way into the heart of the now derelict industrial quarter, Ayden is entering the city. He makes his way warily through the deserted streets. He is also heading towards the industrial quarter and the keep, which lies beyond it. The fog is thick enough to make assuming mist form almost unnecessary for him, against humans anyway, human vision being poor enough at the best of times. He passes several of them, but they pay him no attention, seeing only what they expect to see, as they hurry towards the shelter of their homes. He feeds from one of the stragglers, pulling the struggling form into a shadowed doorway. Old, he notices and feeble, but the blood is still good. Time ravages humans in so many ways, but it doesn't seem to affect that.

He encounters only one vampire on his way through the city, a female. A lone hunter from Vorador's brood, he assumes, she dresses like one of them, anyway. Her scarlet leather pants are cut open at the sides, exposing her pale flesh beneath the tight lacing that holds them together. Above them, she wears a narrow band of leather that barely covers her breasts, and nothing else. Hardly the most practical garb for hunting, Ayden thinks, but then, an outfit like that, probably helps to mesmerize her prey. 

She drops the corpse she had been feeding from with a hiss, her eyes blazing as she jumps onto a nearby roof, either to escape him or to launch an attack, Ayden does not wait to find out which. Cursing his lack of care, he backtracks and melts once more into the fog. 

'_Tarry_.' She whispers after his retreating form. '_You might enjoy what I would offer you_.' 

He does not even look back. At any other time, dalliance with one such as her would most definitely have had appeal, whether she was offering a fight or something more interesting, but not tonight. 

More cautious now, Ayden slips into the Industrial Quarter and begins the search for his quarry. It is not long before he finds what he is looking for, a band of three female Sarafan, on patrol around the empty buildings and slum dwellings of the people who were once the fodder for the Sarafan factories.

"I really hate it here," Dorton whispers to Talia, as they turn into yet another fog-bound street. "It gives me the creeps, all that machinery standing idle. It's like something's died."

"Well keep your wits about you, or it'll be us doing the dying." Talia says. "There's always trouble down here, and so far," Crossing herself, "never from the vampires, just the people we're meant to protect. And Jay," she says, turning round. "There's a curfew. So, if you see something, you shoot first and you shoot to kill. Anyone who's out here tonight, shouldn't be. And it's better them dead than us."

"Amen to that!" Says Dorton.

After they have patrolled for nearly two hours, they find a murder victim, lying face down in the middle of the street. Talia looks down at the corpse with a grimace of disgust. She is cold, hungry and fed up.

"What should we do with this?" Jay asks, pointing to the still-bleeding corpse.

"Leave it." Says Talia.

"But the poor man…"

"Has gang tattoos all over him." Talia rolls the body over with her foot. "Somebody took his weapon, his associates will probably come back for him later, or not. He's not our problem anyway."

Dorton looks down the street. "I wish I'd eaten lunch." She says, morosely. "I'm bloody starving."

"There's a tavern nearby." Talia says. "What do you say we go and get something to eat? No one's going to miss us, not for half an hour or so."

The two girls set off at once and Jay trails miserably after them. She doesn't feel like eating at all. The sight of the body has made her feel sick, especially after Talia had rolled him over and she could see the ragged hole someone had bashed into his skull and the grey stuff, oozing from the wound and daubing the blood-slick cobbles. 

The easy manner in which the other girls accept things like dead bodies, rats and crawling about in the sewers looking for vampires, is making Jay wonder if she is ever going to make a good soldier. Everyone has been kind, everyone says she will get used to it, but deep down she is not so sure. Jay shivers suddenly, as a cold breeze touches the back of her neck. The others are already well ahead of her. She breaks into a trot and just manages to catch up with them before they turn into the next street. 

Ayden watches them as they make their way to the front door of the tavern. He wonders when they are due to return to the keep. Not for a while obviously, since they are seeking sustenance. Stealthily, he follows them, hugging the walls of the houses and staying deep in the shadows. Just before he reaches the tavern, he finds a narrow alleyway; he slips into it, and waits to see what will happen next. 

The tavern is closed, of course. Talia bangs loudly on the door. It is opened by an ancient old woman with a hunched back and a sour face.

"The tavern's shut." She says, clearly taking some pleasure in being able to state the obvious.

"Then open it, in the name of the Sarafan." Dorton tells her haughtily, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword as added encouragement.

Grudgingly, the woman opens the door a little wider and lets them in.

"What do you want?" She asks.

"Food." Talia says, wiping a finger disparagingly along the sticky surface of the bar. "We're not fussy," she adds, "only make it quick."

"The kitchen is closed." The woman says.

Talia frowns. "Then open it!"

"Can't." The woman says.

"What do you mean, 'Can't'?"

The old woman fixes her with a beady stare.

"Cook's gone home." 

Talia is infuriated, if the old woman thinks she is going to be so easily dissuaded, she is mistaken. Talia leaps lightly over the bar and stands facing her antagonist. She glares at her belligerently. "I'm not going to stand here and argue." She says. "We can cook for ourselves."__

She heads towards the door that leads out to the back. The old woman immediately grabs hold of her arm; her scrawny fingers feel like bird claws. She digs them in feebly, trying to halt Talia's progress.

 "You can't go in there." She says shrilly. "That's private property, that is!" Talia pushes her aside and grabs a couple of bottles of wine from the shelf behind the bar. Then, she enters the kitchen. The other two girls follow her in.

"Thieving Sarafan scum!" The woman cries. Talia ignores her and starts to open one of the bottles. "You put that down!" The woman shouts. She is literally hopping up and down with rage. Talia puts the opened bottle down on the table and brushes past her. Clearly, cook went home some time ago, the range is cold and much to Talia's disappointment, there are no pots of soup or stew standing on top of it waiting to be reheated. Talia opens the door to the pantry. Inside, she discovers some mouldy cheese and a rather ancient looking pie. As she picks up the pie, the old woman springs at her once again; Dorton holds her back with an amused snigger.

"You put that back, you saucy baggage! That's Bert's supper, that is."

Talia sniffs dubiously at the crust and wrinkles her nose.

"Well he's welcome to it, whatever it is!"

Dorton takes hold of the old woman by the shoulders and propels her gently towards the door. "Now," she says. "You are starting to give me a headache. So, either go in there and sit quiet by the fire, or go outside and yell in the street. With any luck, the Scourge of Nosgoth himself will hear you. I'm sure he'd love to help you get three Sarafan out of your kitchen. Only problem is, he'll probably make a quick snack out of you, first." 

Resentfully, the old woman lets herself be manoeuvred through the door. 

"Thieving bitches!" She mutters. "Got no right to come in here and push an old woman about." Dorton shuts the door firmly behind her. "Bad luck to the lot of you!" The old woman screams through the door. "I hope you all rot in Hell!"

"Charming!" Talia says, going back into the pantry. She browses the sparse provisions with a sigh. "This is ridiculous. There must be something fit to eat in here." Finally, she finds a large, square basket sitting on the stone floor under the shelves. "Ah!" She says opening the lid. "Chickens, four of 'em, and a few vegetables too. Now we're in business!"

Ten minutes later, she has the range lit and is standing at the kitchen table, cheerfully slicing the breasts from the four birds. "Chicken Meridian?" She asks the girls. "Accompanied by beans, spuds and a rather good bottle of red wine. What more could you ask? Not too humble for your sophisticated tastes is it, Dorton?"

Dorton smiles and shakes her head. 

"Is this really going to be edible?" She asks sceptically.

"Oh ye of little faith! It'll be better than edible. But I promise you one thing, Dorton, you're going to have terrible indigestion, 'cos I'm going to make you eat a big slice of humble pie first. You'll have to say sorry really nicely if you want any of this."

"I'll wait until it's cooked." Dorton retorts. Talia chuckles.

Once the chicken is sizzling in the pan, even Dorton has to admit it smells extremely appetizing "Okay Locke, " she says. "That does smell rather tempting."

"And?"

"And what?"

"I'm waiting for my apology, Dorton. You didn't think I was going to let you off that easily, did you?"

At that moment, Talia notices the kitchen door is slowly beginning to open again. "Jay," she says. "Put that poisonous old hag outside again, will you?" 

Jay goes over to the door but she is unable to close it. It is as if an irresistible force has somehow gotten behind it. Her feet start sliding across the stone flags and she puts her shoulder to the timbers but still, the door continues to open. Suddenly, the door is flung wide open. Jay just manages to jump out of the way as a heavily armoured figure strides in, closely followed by two others.

"Locke, Dorton. What exactly do you think you are doing? That old biddy out there, seems to think her place is being ransacked by marauders!"

"Captain Ward!" Gasps Jay, her face a study in panic. Dorton stands up and salutes awkwardly, her eyes mutely telling Jay to do the same.

Talia continues cooking for a minute and then she turns coolly towards the captain. 

"Good evening, Captain Ward. Gentlemen. You're just in time Sir."

"For what?" Growls Ward, his face set in an expression of stony disapproval.

"For the meal, Sir. Since we all had to go out on extra duty this evening, the girls and I thought we'd cook you supper, Sir."

"Ward walks over to her and sniffs the pan where the seasoned chicken is frying gently in garlic and butter, an amused smile playing about his lips.

"You did, did you?"

"Yes, Sir. Can't have our captain going hungry, can we, Sir?" 

Ward picks up a knife and cuts a small piece of the meat. When he tastes it, his smile broadens; it is very good. Like everyone else, he was forced to go without a meal this evening and it will be at least another two hours before he can return to the stronghold. If past experience is anything to go by, there will probably be no food on offer when he does get back, either. He turns to Talia.

"Locke," he says, "has anyone told you, you are a complete chancer?"

"No, Sir. Not recently, Sir."

"Well, you are."

"Yes, Sir."

"And you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Absolutely, Sir."

Ward sits down.

"I'm glad we've got that straight." He looks up at her with a smile he can no longer conceal. "Well, don't just stand there, woman. Pour me a glass of wine and serve my supper." 

A plate is put in front of the captain and the food is dished up. Ward helps himself to a generous serving, ignoring the hungry looks from his companions and the three girls. He takes a bite and savours it; then he takes a deep draught of the wine, refilling his glass from the bottle. Somebody's stomach is growling audibly, by this stage, though he is not sure whose it is. Ward takes another bite and chews slowly. He's enjoying this.

"Strange," he remarks conversationally, after a minute or two. "There seems to be rather a lot of food here for just one person. I certainly couldn't eat all this myself. Would any of you care to join me?"

Within seconds all the Sarafan are sitting around the table.

"How did you know to prepare so much?" Dorton asks Talia in an awed whisper. "Did you know they were going to show up?" 

Talia gives her an enigmatic smile, but the truth is, she had only ever cooked on the farm at home before, and there were at least twenty people to be fed at every meal there, sometimes more. She had not been too sure how much to food to cook for three. As well as that, the prospect of using up everything edible in the kitchen, and leaving the old bag of a landlady hungry for the next couple of days, had been very appealing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is a pleasant gathering in the little kitchen. The fire is bright and the food and drink are plentiful. Ward and his men are in no hurry to go back out into the fog, so the meal is taken at a leisurely pace. More wine is brought through, and the conversation begins to flow.

"I'd suggest you girls behave yourselves for a next couple of weeks," Ward says genially. "Your new captain might not be quite so understanding as I am."

"**New** captain, Sir?" The girls all stare at him in astonishment. "Where are **you** going, Sir?"

"Willendorf." Says Locke. "I've been promoted."

"Congratulations, Sir." Says Talia. The others immediately join her in wishing him well with obvious sincerity; Ward has been a popular commander.

"It's no more than you deserve." Says one of the male soldiers. "Let's face it, you're a bloody hero, catching that fiend and bringing it back alive."

Ayden, standing silently in the tavern courtyard, beneath the kitchen-window, suddenly becomes very attentive.

Ward shakes his head diffidently. "I was lucky, that's all." He says. "I did what anyone would do."

"Not anyone," says Dorton. "Vampires are hard enough just to kill. To bring in an old one like that, without losing any men… well, it can't have been easy."

"This one wasn't all that old." Ward says. "Strong though, I'll grant you, and unusual."

"Unusual?" Talia leans forward, curious. "In what way was it unusual, Sir?"

"Well for a start, water barely hurts it. Anything less than total immersion and it seems almost unaffected."

"You speak of it in the present tense, Sir. Does that mean it's still alive, after all these weeks?" Talia asks in astonishment. 

"It is very much alive, Locke, and hopefully, it will provide us with a lot of useful information before its execution."

Dorton frowns. "I thought water burned all vampires." She says. "Like acid to them, I heard."

"Not this one. The interrogators have never seen anything like it." 

Dorton looks down at her plate, for a minute, chewing her bottom lip in consternation.

"So are they getting stronger, Sir?" She asks.

Ward shakes his head. "I don't think so." He says reassuringly. "As I said, this one's unusual. It is strong against water but other ways it is very weak. Light really hurts it, much more than any of the others, I've seen. It's eyes practically burned in their sockets, the first day we questioned it." 

Outside in the courtyard, Ayden listens to Ward's graphic descriptions of his brother's torment. He stares into the fog and lets his head bang gently against the crumbling brickwork behind him. This is his fault, he realizes miserably. The Sarafan are torturing his brother and it is all, his fault.

"Is the creature able to regenerate, like the other fiends do?"

"Indeed it is. But it is permanently blind, we made sure of that. Lord Agrippa is determined to extract every possible scrap of information from it, before we release its soul, but we're keeping it as weak as we can, just in case. Safer that way. In captivity, the demons' powers of regeneration can be used against them. They can withstand torture that would kill a human suspect, and then they heal, enabling our comrades in the dungeons to repeat the process almost indefinitely, if they're careful."

"So it is being questioned as we speak?" Jay asks.

"Oh yes! I'm sure of it."

"I'm glad!" Everyone present looks at her in surprise. Her expression is no longer timid; her face is suffused with hatred. "It's only right! It should suffer!" She says, vehemently. "Did you see the bodies that came in from that battle in the docklands last month? I did, and I still have nightmares! Anything that could do that to a person, to a living, breathing human being, deserves all the pain we can give it. All the pain in the world!"

"You can expect to be rounding up a few more human sympathizers, as well." Ward continues after a moment. "It hasn't given us any names yet, but they think they're close to a breakthrough."

Talia frowns. "Human sympathizers. They're worse than the vampires as far as I am concerned. Do you think there will be many?"

Ward nods earnestly. "Oh yes, I'm sure of it, and some of them in very high places as well. We all know our history, without human help, the Accursed One would never have been resurrected, and the Sarafan Lord, the first Sarafan Lord would undoubtedly still be with us. We have been rounding up sympathizers ever since the disaster, and their numbers have not been falling."

Talia shakes her head. "How could anybody sink so low as to aid the vampires against their own kind?" She asks. "What could they possibly hope to obtain?"

Ward shrugs. "Money, power, who knows?"

"Money!" Talia exclaims. "What use is money when you are dead or enslaved? And how naive must a person be, to think these creatures want to share power?"

Ward nods in agreement. "You're right of course, but unfortunately, Locke, not everyone has your clarity of vision." The captain looks around the table, this turn in the conversation has sobered everyone. "But remember," he says. "We will prevail. Have no doubt of it. God is on our side, and while the Sarafan have hearts as true as those gathered here, we cannot lose." The company is visibly cheered by his words, despite the fact that they must have heard this tired rhetoric many times before, and the Sarafan are still no closer to turning the tide in their quest to annihilate the vampires. In some ways, Ward finds it depressing to see how easily they can be manipulated. He suppresses a sigh and raises his glass. "A toast." He says. "To true hearts." They all rise and raise their glasses to him.

"To true hearts!" They chorus. Talia refills their glasses with the last of the wine.

"And now, "she says, "a toast to our gallant captain, and to Willendorf."

"To Willendorf!"

Ayden listens impassively to their merrymaking. Tonight they live, but he vows he will not forget their words and he will repay them, every one. While the toasts are being drunk, he slips back into the alley that connects the tavern courtyard to the street, and waits for the revellers to emerge. 

He does not have to wait long. As soon as the wine is finished, the Sarafan leave. The old woman is waiting for them as they re-enter the bar. She darts at Ward, giving vent to a string of curses and remonstrances for their despicable behaviour until one of his companions silences her with a sharp blow from the hilt of his sword.

"Hold your insolent tongue, you old witch. Lest I decide to cut it out for you." He sheathes his sword and pushes her roughly aside. She falls against one of the tables and sinks to her knees with a cry, clutching her head, which is now bleeding freely. The Sarafan soldier does not even look at her; he strides past and opens the door to the street, checking the coast is clear, before the others emerge.

Ayden watches as the Sarafan to make their way back to the keep. They walk right past him oblivious, and he gives thanks that the energy that once suffused their glyph armour and weapons has finally died, a process that has taken years. Ward is wearing glyph armour and even a year ago, that would have meant discovery for any vampire in his immediate vicinity, but although he passes close enough for Ayden to reach out and touch him, the armour does not react at all, even to Ayden's enhanced vision. 

The three women are bringing up the rear, and Jay is trailing behind again. Once more, Ayden breathes upon her, laughing to himself as he watches the hairs rising up on the back of her neck. He backs away as she spins round and she looks right through him and into the empty street beyond. The silly little thing hasn't even drawn her sword. The temptation to kill her is almost overwhelming.

"Jay! Come on!" Talia calls sharply. "This is no place to tarry!"

Jay turns and runs after her companions and Ayden silently tracks them through the deserted streets and back, finally, to the Sarafan Keep.


	3. Chapter 3 In The House Of My Enemy

**_A/N_**_ Ah! The joys of writing a fan-fic, I don't even have to try to be original. Disclaimer no.2 This chapter title belongs to Eidos, but I liked it so much I just had to 'borrow' it. Theft is the sincerest form of flattery after all! _

**3 In the House of my Enemy**

As the little band of Sarafan approach the main entrance to the keep, the portcullis is raised to allow them enter. They saunter in, all of them appearing to be in surprisingly good spirits for soldiers who have spent the last four hours patrolling in the fog. One of the guards steps forward to address Ward.

"Captain Ward, Sir." He says. "You seem very cheerful tonight, Sir. Anyone would think you were looking forward to leaving Meridian."

Ward stops to exchange words with the man and the others stand respectfully behind him and wait. 

Once more, Ayden finds himself standing close behind Jay, but he does not risk teasing her a third time. The fog is flowing in under the archway, and swirling around their feet. Ayden looks at it, frowning. Even though he is in mist form, he would still be visible to any of them, should they chance to turn around, for he is standing too close for concealment. Ward and the guard are blocking the exit and the portcullis has already been lowered behind them, so, for the moment, Ayden is trapped. He steps back from Jay and her companions, pressing himself tightly into a corner. He hopes he won't have to wait for too long before Ward makes a move; he cannot hold mist form indefinitely, and if he is forced to reveal himself here, things could get rather difficult. Silently, he draws his sword, just in case. There are too many of them to prevail against in a fight, but if he is destined to die here, Ayden vows he will not be dying alone.

Ward and the guard are still deep in conversation, they are reminiscing about old campaigns now, while the rest of the company shift on their feet and try not to look too bored or impatient. Ayden uses the time to take stock of his surroundings, an occupation that he finds more productive than fretting about when he will reach the limits of his magic. 

The gatehouse is set into the perimeter wall and it opens onto a stone bridge, which spans a broad, deep moat. Beyond the bridge, the curving walls of the keep loom dark against the night sky, their smooth surfaces interrupted only by the Sarafan emblem, which is set into deep recesses on both of the main towers and by three lines of narrow windows on the very top floor of the building. The massive ironclad entrance doors stand open on the other side of the bridge, the light from within, illuminating the wet cobbles and the swirling patterns of the fog as it dances above the waters of the moat. The doors themselves are flanked by yet more guards, and a solitary guard also patrols the bridge itself. Although the fog would probably allow him to enter the building in safety, Ayden does not intend to follow Ward and his party in unless he has to, for he has no idea what lies beyond those doors. A side entrance would be far less risky, if he can find one.

To the left of the bridge, the moat simply appears to curl around the keep, the black waters gathering speed as they round the corner and hurtle towards the open sea. On the right, he spies a small courtyard, tucked in close to the perimeter wall, the water apparently flowing out from underneath it. At the back of this courtyard, is a small outbuilding, possibly a guard-house. It looks as though it might offer a means of entry, although it would be very hard for him to reach, but if he could get to it, it would certainly merit investigation. 

For the moment, however, Ayden is going nowhere. Ward is still talking to the guard. He is in the middle of telling a particularly ribald story about a raid on one of the local whorehouses. Unseen, Ayden grimaces as the men laugh over antics that seem particularly uninspired, at least from a vampire's point of view. 

"So, what did you do then?" Asks the guard, drawing breath, with difficulty, through his laughter

"Well, we threw her petticoats up over her head and…"

Ayden barely suppresses a groan. Have mortals any idea how to have fun? He looks up at the ceiling, and tries not to think about the amount of time he is wasting here, or how rapidly he is tiring from the strain of maintaining the mist spell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Ward and the guard relive past glories, the present Sarafan Lord is making plans for the future. Lord Agrippa is touring the keep, **his **keep, he reminds himself as he strides into the main entrance hall, a secretary and several other high-ranking Sarafan following in his wake. All of these men are looking somewhat uncomfortable, for the new Lord is proving to be rather difficult to please. He is far from satisfied with the way the keep is being run, and he has been expressing his dissatisfaction to them in a most forceful manner. Agrippa stops suddenly, and the followers clatter together as they try to avoid crashing into him. He is glaring at the open doors that lead onto the bridge.

"Why are these doors standing open?" He demands.

The secretary steps forward, he has a rather cringing stance, which Agrippa is already finding hard to tolerate.

"Well you see, My Lord," he says, "it has been the custom…"

"Custom be damned!" Snaps Agrippa with an angry gesture. "Who the hell decreed that custom should replace common sense?"

"Well, Sir, the last Sarafan Lord ordered that the doors should stand open while our men are out in the city and until you countermand that order..."

"Consider it countermanded!" 

The secretary makes a sign to the guards, and at once, the doors start slowly turning on their hinges. Agrippa shakes his head impatiently. "How long does it take to shut them fully?" He asks. "Anything could walk in."

"Not past the guards, Sir." One of the generals ventures.

"Anything!" Agrippa repeats, rounding on him, his steel-grey eyes cold with anger. "How many, do you think they'd be able to hold back?" He waves a hand clad in heavy golden mail, towards the gatehouse and the two guards who flank the doors. "And is anyone really going to tell me," he adds, "that those fools out there are paying attention?" 

As if to prove his point, a peal of laughter drifts over to them from the gatehouse, just before the doors finally shut. "Put that man on report." Agrippa says in disgust. The secretary nods and makes a note on the parchment he is carrying. 

This minor task finished, the secretary looks up and rather nervously starts to clear his throat.

"Now Sir," he begins. "About your scheduled patrol of the city…"

"We've already discussed this." Agrippa says. "The answer is no."

"But Sir," one of the generals protests. "You have to show yourself to the people. Let them see that the Sarafan are there to protect them."

Agrippa stares at him coldly.

"I was elected to rule." He says. "Not to play politics. Three Sarafan Lords dead at the hands of the vampires is enough to make such a venture foolhardy, but don't I also recall a Sarafan Lord who died at the hands of the very people you would have me parade in front of? Don't you study history, General? You should."

"With all due respect, Sir." The general says. "That was over twenty-five years ago, during the rioting that started when the ward-gates failed and the power from the glyph batteries finally ran out. When the factories closed and the workers were left without food or wages, things did get ugly for a while, I grant you, but the people are calm now, they accept our rule. But, if we want to keep things that way, it's important to keep them on side."

Agrippa looks at the general contemptuously.

"What's **important**," he says with heavy emphasis, "is to keep the people of this city **afraid**, afraid of the vampires, and, most of all, afraid of us. Remember they are here to serve our needs, not the other way around. While they fear us, they obey us. Leaving us free to concentrate on fulfilling our most sacred duty."

"But Sir! The Sarafan have always enjoyed a most cordial relationship with the city's populace, or at least, with the nobles."

Agrippa laughs openly at the speaker. "You should never fall into the trap of believing your own propaganda." He sneers. "The nobles have been manipulated by their own greed, and by fear, and that is how we shall continue. There is no loyalty among the mob out there. No sense of justice or morality. It is like a wild animal. Given even half a chance, it will bite the hand that feeds it. History has a nasty habit of repeating itself, if you let it." He spins around on his heel and looks up at the walls of the entrance hall, which are all covered over with heavy tapestries. The design is a rather oppressive pattern of black Sarafan crosses on a ground of dull, rusty red. "So where are these murals?" He asks.

"Behind the tapestries, Sir." Replies the secretary. 

Agrippa gestures impatiently that the cloths should be lifted. Men dart forward to do his bidding and the lurid depictions of the first Sarafan Lord's defeat of the vampire hordes are brought into view for the first time in over twenty years. Agrippa studies the murals; the ones in the lower part of the entrance hall show vampire bodies impaled on pikes and more vampires writhing in agony as the first Sarafan Lord inflicts the power of the Soul Reaver on their undead bodies. On the upper level, surrounding the door that leads to the great hall and to his own quarters, is a larger mural. This one depicts the vampire Kain, apparently on the point of meeting his death at the hand of the first Sarafan Lord, the Soul Reaver tumbling out of his grasp and just about to be snatched up by his triumphant foe. 

"Why were these covered?" Agrippa asks. The secretary and the assembled generals shake their heads; the tapestries were put up long before their time.

"We don't know, Sir."

"Uncover them." He orders. "All of them. I find them remarkably… uplifting." He walks up to the painting of Kain, stumbling from the blow delivered by the Sarafan Lord. He studies the vampire's features closely, the flowing white hair, the expression of dismay on those demonic features. One day, Agrippa will be standing this close to the monster himself, in person. He smiles in anticipation, his heavy features creasing into unaccustomed lines. "This is one piece of history that will be repeated." He says softly. "I promise you. Only this time, Kain, you **do **meet your nemesis. You meet **me**." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the doors to the keep are swung shut, Ward comes to the end of his tale. He stares in astonishment at the sight of the Keep's main doors being fastened against him.

"What's going on?" He calls to the guard, patrolling the bridge. The guard shrugs.

"Search me." He says, confusion evident on his face.

Ward gives the order for his troop to follow him and they start to jog across the bridge, Ayden keeping close behind them but it is obvious to him now, that he will not be able to use the main entrance, there will be far too much attention focused on those doors for him to be able to slip in unnoticed. 

Half way across the bridge, Ayden stops, his eyes searching for an alternative way into the Keep. As he suspected, there is nowhere to the left of the bridge, the smooth surfaces of the walls are completely unbroken on that side of the building. He has to reach the little courtyard that he saw earlier, but it is too far away for him to simply jump across to it and the walls of the keep are without ledges and offer no hand-holds. Just as he is beginning to fear the task is impossible, he spies something in the water, a half-submerged crate, caught against the wall of the tower on the right-hand side. He looks towards Ward and the others. All the Sarafan have their attention focused on the doors. Never before, have they known them to be closed, and unless the keep is under attack, which it obviously is not, they can't think of a reason why they would be closed now. The doors have been partially opened and Ward is vociferously demanding an explanation. Cautiously, Ayden climbs on to the low parapet that edges the bridge. If he can jump onto the crate, he might just be able to make it to the courtyard wall. Without hesitation, he gauges the distance and jumps. He lands on the crate all right, but the force of the impact pushes it down below the surface of the water and dislodges it from its position. Immediately, the crate is caught by the current and starts moving slowly towards the centre of the moat and back towards the bridge. 

As the crate sinks under his weight, and the cold waters swirl up over his feet and around his calves, Ayden experiences a moment of pure panic, if he should slip off, or the crate should continue sinking, he is finished, for he cannot swim. For a moment, he doesn't even realise the crate is moving. He has no time to judge the next jump. As the crate begins to rise and drift away, he leaps towards the courtyard wall, desperately hoping he is going to make it. His hands make contact with stone and he hangs on, unable to move for a moment, relief flooding over him, as he realizes he is still alive. However, His troubles are far from over, as Ayden hauls himself over the low wall, he finds he has fallen at the feet of the Sarafan soldier, whose job it is to guard this area. 

"Well, what have we got here then?" The soldier asks, pointing at him with his sword. Ayden doesn't bother to reply. In a second, he rolls away and disappears into the mist leaving his enemy dumbfounded. The soldier blinks and rubs his eyes. "Where did 'e go?" He asks himself, looking around the empty courtyard, just before the cold steel of Ayden's sword is plunged into the back of his neck. The soldier falls to the ground with a low gurgle as his blood pours down his throat, his sword clattering on the stones beside him. Ayden squats beside him, listening. Nothing. No one has heard, Ward and the others are still arguing outside the doors of the keep, and the guard who patrols the bridge is standing with them, too.

Having checked that he is unobserved, Ayden leans down to the corpse, he searches it and then drains it of blood. Then, he rolls it gently over the wall, lowering it down into the water with great care. The body slips below the surface with barely a splash, its armour gleaming pale in the moonlight as it is swallowed by the black waters. 

Now all Ayden has to do, is to find a way into the guardhouse. The outside door is locked and the guard did not have the key on him. Ayden curses silently, nearly five hours have passed since sunset, and still, he seems no closer to getting inside the keep.

He peers through the grimy windows, a flunky, in footman's uniform is performing some menial cleaning duty, otherwise the room is empty. Ayden thinks for a moment, he does not want to wait until the guards arrive for the next watch. When they find their comrade gone, all hell is going to break loose, and he wants to be far away from here when that happens, but how can he get the flunky to open the door? He decides to try the obvious. He knocks. 

The flunky looks up, startled, there should only be the guard outside, and why would he knock? He has only just started his watch and the guards are not allowed to leave their posts until they are relived. Unbelievably though, the man does go over and look out of the window, and even more unbelievably, when he sees nothing out there, he opens the door and goes out to investigate. Ayden gives heartfelt thanks for human stupidity. He slips past the man and into the building. A minute later, the flunky comes in again and locks the door, his face set in haughty disapproval; he assumes he is the subject of a practical joke and he is not amused. Huffing in annoyance, the man picks up his cleaning cloth and leaves the room.

Ayden follows the flunkey into the corridor. There is an open doorway immediately to his right. Cautiously, he looks into the room. The fog has not penetrated this far inside the keep and he does not want to risk following the flunkey for long; there is too much of a risk that he might turn around and see him and the fewer bodies Ayden has to hide, the better his chances of emerging from the keep unscathed. Fortunately, the room is empty. He enters it and looks around, at the very back is a flight of stone stairs, which appear to lead down to the lower levels. Ayden smiles at his good fortune; the lower levels are where the prisoners are usually kept. Silently, he makes his way down the stairs. The corridors below are deserted. Listening hard for even the most distant footfall, Ayden makes his way deeper into his enemy's stronghold. 

Everywhere around him, there is evidence of the now defunct glyph-energy that had once powered this great fortress, energy that had made the keep almost impenetrable to his kind in the time before Kain's dominion. 

He finds another flight of stairs, and descends even lower. This part of the keep is also quiet; the only humans he encounters on these lower levels are half a dozen soldiers, each of them patrolling his small area, guarding key entrances or stairways. Ayden manages to slip past them all, unseen and without having to kill any. 

At length, he comes to the dungeons where the human prisoners are kept. The foetid smell of unwashed skin mingled with the more pungent odours of burnt and injured flesh, leading him unerringly in the right direction. When he finally enters the first of the prison rooms, the stench is almost overpowering, as is the heat. 

_How many of them are in here?_ He wonders. 

As he walks past the cells, he can see that most of them are full, almost to bursting point. Men, women and even children are crammed together in the tiny cells, more have been fettered to the dungeon walls, and some are hanging in cages suspended high above their heads. 

It is in this miserable place that Ayden's luck finally runs out; the guard in charge of the prisoners sees him. Fortunately, the man is overconfident of his abilities and seeing only one fiend before him, he makes the fatal error of rushing into attack the creature, before he attempts to raise the alarm. One swift blow from Ayden's sword is all it takes to ensure that he does not get another chance. Using the key at the guard's belt, Ayden opens one of the cells and quickly thrusts the body inside. He slams the door shut again and locks it. As the key turns in the lock, a face is pressed briefly up against the bars.

"God bless ye, Sir!" A man cries in a harsh whisper. Ayden smiles at the irony.

_What kind of fools are these Sarafan, that they make their own kind hate them so much?_

As he makes his way through the dungeons, he is forced to kill two more guards, but again, none of the human prisoners calls for aid or does anything to hinder his progress. Eventually, he leaves the cells and enters the torture chambers that lie beyond them. He sees much evidence of man's inhumanity to his fellow man, during his journey, but he sees no vampires held prisoner or any cells built specifically to hold them. 

He pauses in the shadows outside one of the tiny rooms where suspects are questioned. Inside, two interrogators are torturing a young human female. The two men are pursing their task with zeal and her screams ring out in an almost unbroken stream, echoing through the corridors. Abruptly, they cease. 

"Dammit!" Cries one of the men. "Not another one! You'd think a little slum bitch would be able for more than that."

"Just when I'd got the irons hot, too." His companion says, clearly disappointed at her sudden demise. He walks over to the body still tied to a chair and gives her feet a kick, spitting juicily onto the stone floor beside her as he does so. "Gargh!" He says. "Bloody bitch of a night this is turning out to be. How many names have we got now, to give our masters?"

"Not enough!" The other replies. "Not nearly enough. Shall I go an' get our next client, Jake, or will you?"

"You can." The man says. "I got the last one and those bloody corridors are playing hell with my rheumatics."

The man shuffles over to the door.

"Wonder 'ow they're gettin' on with that vampire downstairs?" He asks.

The one called Jake, wipes his hands on a filthy rag and looks at him. 

"Don' matter does it?" He says, dropping the cloth in the dead girl's lap. "We're just hordinary folk. They won't let the likes of us near somthin' that precious. We might find somethin' hout. Nah, all we get here are sewer rats and street whores. An' if you don' hurry up an' get me another one, we might just be joining the buggers. Sarafan Lord said we were to increase productivity, not decrease it!"

The man leaves the room and shuffles off towards the cells in search of his next victim and Ayden continues to creep stealthily down the corridor; from the sound of their conversation, he must be very close now. 

The end of this corridor was evidently once protected by a ward-gate; a steep flight of stairs rises beyond this now defunct contraption, leading up to a pair of doors, which open on to the outside, with another dead ward-gate positioned just in front of the exit. At the moment, these doors are standing ajar, letting in a few helpful wisps of fog for Ayden to conceal himself in. This is the exit by which the bodies of those who die in custody are taken to the carrion pit. Just before the stairs, to the left, is an arched doorway, this one leading to a narrow flight of stairs, which plunge sharply downwards to the floor below. The doorway is open and unguarded. 

Extremely cautiously, Ayden descends the steps. It is possible to stay in mist-form until he is halfway down and this is far enough for him to see what lies beyond. At the bottom of the steps, is a short, wide corridor with four doors leading off, two to each side, and at its very end, another door. At this moment, the door at the end is being guarded by two Sarafan knights, they are seated either side of a small table. Both knights are in full armour and armed with swords, their pikes and their shields leaning against the wall beside them. With so much weaponry at their disposal, they should be ready for any eventuality, but they are not being particularly attentive to their duties. In fact, they are engrossed in playing a simple game, rather similar to noughts and crosses, the 'board' for this having been carved into the top of the table. 

Ayden watches them for several minutes, he knows he will have to kill both of them if he is to get close to that door, but unless he can persuade one of them to move out of sight of his companion, he has no chance of doing it, not without putting his own life in considerable danger. The problem is, how to distract them. 

Stealthily, Ayden begins to back up the steps; he has an idea. When he returns, still in mist-form, the two soldiers are where he had left them. For a long time nothing happens, the two men continue their game oblivious to his presence. Suddenly, one of the soldiers looks up towards the stairs. 

"Bastards!" He says. "They've only gone and left that bloody door open again." 

"Well, at least it don't smell too bad this time of year," his companion says amiably, "no worse than the butcher's shop at home, really."

"It ain't the smell I'm worried about. I'm bloody freezing! Just look at that fog drifting in!" 

The two men raise their heads and look up the stairs. The fog is pouring down the steps and into the corridor. "Go on," says the first speaker, obviously the higher-ranking of the two. "Go and shut it, there's a good lad." 

The other soldier gets up heavily. 

"Alright," He says. "Only no cheating, Marcus! I'll know if you've moved anything!"

The other soldier smiles as he watches him walk up the stairs, then he moves one of his companion's counters anyway, a sly smirk spreading across his features as he does so.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, the first soldier finds that both the doors are indeed standing wide open. As he goes to close one of them, a hard shove to his back propels him through. He does not even have time to cry out, almost in the same moment, Ayden's blade flashes at the edge of his vision. For a moment, the body sways as if undecided what to do now that it is suddenly bereft of a head, then it crashes to the ground; Ayden drains it instantly. Being close to so many humans and not killing has taken considerable self-control. He needs this man's blood; and then, he realizes, he needs more. He closes his eyes, forcing down the insistent demands of the thirst until it is but a soft whisper at the back of his mind. He cannot afford to give in to his blood-lust now, not when he is so close to his goal. He needs to have a clear head.

A few minutes later, the remaining guard is surprised to see a large ball come rolling slowly down the stairs towards him. Grunting with surprise, he goes over to investigate, Ayden taking the opportunity to leap from the top step and right over his head as he looks down. He lands silently behind the guard, turning in mid-air so he is standing right behind him, his dagger drawn and ready in his hand. 

At the very moment the guard realizes that the object he had taken for a ball, is in fact, his companion's head, Ayden is slicing into his throat. 

Ayden catches him quickly, before he has a chance to fall, holding the corpse close to his chest. The sound of the blood spattering from the man's throat onto the floor beside him and the smell of it, suddenly fill his consciousness to the exclusion of all else. The thirst has reawakened, and this time, it will not be denied. It beats an insistent tattoo on the inside of his skull, bending him to its will, until he has no choice but to submit, despite the peril of his situation. With a single, nervous glance over his shoulder, at the door behind him, he drains the corpse. Waves of pleasure immediately wash over him, the danger only adding to the heady delights of the feed. Ayden wipes his mouth and then, almost effortlessly, hoists the heavily armoured knight onto his shoulder and carries him up the stairs and outside. The path from the door leads to a narrow plank bridge, which spans the moat, and then, on to the carrion pit beyond. Ayden searches the bodies of both the knights before disposing of them but they yield nothing of interest. He dumps them in the water, the head of the first soldier bobbing comically on the surface for a while, until the current takes it and sweeps it out to sea. Ayden watches until it is out of sight, then he makes his way back down the stairs. 

All the doors in the corridor have tiny, barred windows set in their top. Ayden glances curiously into the first door to his left. What he sees is completely unexpected. He is absolutely astounded by the sight. Glyph-batteries! A whole room full of them, still glowing with that weird green light that could only come from one source, the glyph-energy that the Hylden had brought with them from their accursed realm. The room opposite is exactly the same. Ayden reels at the enormity of his discovery. He has never seen a live glyph-battery before; everyone had assumed the humans had used the power until ran out. It is common knowledge that they had been unable to recharge these batteries, but no one suspected the Sarafan had the foresight to secretly hoard some of this energy. Quickly he makes a rough count, there must be at least fifty batteries stored in each of the two rooms. The next room is only half full of live batteries, and a few dead ones as well. The dead cells are cleaner than the live ones, and from way the dust has been disturbed on the floor, it appears that some batteries have been moved out quite recently, Ayden wonders what the Sarafan have been using them for. 

The last of the side-rooms is not being used for storage; it has been converted into a cell. Although the room is large, it holds but a single prisoner. He is lying slumped on the floor close to the door, four long chains attached to his wrists and ankles securing him to the wall. It is a vampire, but not a clan member as far as Ayden can see, and most importantly, not Zafar. He is almost dead by the look of things, his chest barely rises with his breathing and the filthy straw beneath him is soaked with his blood, more of the precious liquid running out between the flags in front of him, making black pools in the hollows. Ayden steps away from the door, there is nothing he can do to help him and nothing he would do, if it meant jeopardizing his mission. 

Carefully, he approaches the last door, the door that the Sarafan had been guarding. In contrast to the other rooms he has looked into, this room is brightly lit. A huge cage stands at the far wall, directly opposite, and inside this cage is his brother, Zafar. The Sarafan have him secured in a standing position pinned against the wall, his head hangs limp, an iron collar holding his neck against the stone behind him. He does not appear to be conscious. His wrists have also been manacled, his arms held outstretched so his body forms the shape of a cross. The skin of his arms and chest is covered with burns and lacerations, some of them still oozing blood which is thick and sticky and a most unhealthy shade of black, but it is not these injuries that have captured his attention. 

As Ayden looks at Zafar, he finally understands what Ward had meant when he said that the Sarafan were keeping the vampire permanently blind. 

Zafar has no eyes. 

They have been gouged out and the blood that had streamed from the wounds has been left to dry, dark streaks running down over his cheeks that contrast horribly with the whiteness of his skin. Numbly, Ayden stares at Zafar and the bloodied sockets that had once held his eyes. What place is there in a realm as harsh as Nosgoth for a vampire thus robbed of his sight? He knows the answer. There is none.

In that moment, Ayden comes to a decision. Something he had promised himself he would not do under any circumstances.

_'Brother,' _he whispers. _'I am coming.'_

There is no reply, not even a hint of an answering thought, and no movement to indicate that Zafar has heard him either. Though it grieves him to think his brother so sorely injured, Ayden is glad. It was madness to whisper to him. Zafar is not alone in that room and he cannot afford to give the four Sarafan interrogators who are with him, any advance warning.

Two of them are in the cage with Zafar, apparently debating which of the gruesome implements at their disposal, they should use upon him next. Outside the cage, is a scribe and with him another guard, apparently a high-ranking officer, who appears to be overseeing this operation, only this officer is armed.

Ayden watches them through the window of the door. The two men in the cage are working round a brazier. As well as heating the usual tools of their trade, they are melting lead; he can only imagine what they intend doing with it.

"We're ready." One calls to the guard. "We'll have to put it on the table for this."

"Aren't you going to feed it first?" Asks the officer.

"No, easier when it's lying down, get a tube straight into its stomach that way."

Ayden recoils in horror as he realizes what they have been doing. They have been forcibly feeding blood to Zafar. Bringing him to the limits of his endurance and then deliberately healing him. How many times, he wonders, have they brought him to the point of death? And with whose blood have they been feeding him?

"Wait 'til I'm in there." Orders the guard. "The prisoner is not to be released until I am in and the cage has been locked again."

The first interrogator tuts impatiently. 

"He's not going anywhere in this state." He says. "And I guarantee, he's all out of surprises."

"Regulations will be followed!" The guard growls, getting up and walking towards the cage. The interrogator bows obsequiously. 

"Of course, Sir, of course. I was merely saying…"

The guard takes out his key and unlocks the door. 

This is the moment Ayden has been waiting for. He bursts into the room, the door slamming against the wall with a crash that makes all four men freeze momentarily. Ayden decapitates the scribe in one clean movement and then turns to face the guard. He slices at his throat with his sword as the man turns towards him but the wound is shallow. Enraged, the guard charges him. Ayden sidesteps at the last second, felling the man with a blow to the back of his head. He does not have time to finish the job, however. One of the interrogators is desperately stretching a hand through the bars of the cage, his fingers groping towards a lever, which if thrown, will undoubtedly raise the alarm. Ayden slices the arm clean off, just below the elbow, the man reeling back with a cry of shock, blood spurting from the wound; Ayden ignores him. He turns back to the guard; he has managed to get on all fours and is struggling to regain his feet. Without hesitation, Ayden plunges his dagger deep into the exposed flesh at the back of the man's neck. The guard falls to the ground with a groan; his hands and feet moving feebly for a moment and then, he is still. 

The two interrogators are both cowering in the far corner of the cage now, but they were unable to lock it again, only the guard held the key and neither of them was brave enough to venture out to try and retrieve it. They shrink back as Ayden slams open the door. He is a truly terrifying sight, his eyes blazing, the bloodied sword and dagger still in his hands. He sheathes the sword and tucks the dagger into his belt. He looks pointedly at Zafar and then, he looks at the interrogators. The two men shrink back even further, both of them realizing that this vampire does not necessarily intend simply to kill them, but Ayden does not have the time to treat these men as he would wish. He has to get out of here and quickly, before the alarm is raised, for despite all his caution, he knows it is only a matter of time before at least one of the guards he has killed is missed. Angrily, he glances down at the implements laid out on the table; he would dearly like to test them all on the flesh of the cowards before him.

He notices the crucible, still nestled among the coals in the brazier, its contents molten and glowing. With a cruel smile, Ayden hooks a pair of tongs into the hole at its topmost edge. He lifts it and immediately hurls its contents over the two interrogators, an arc of flaming silver spraying across their hands and faces. Their screams give him some slight, satisfaction. He draws his sword and finishes them quickly, something he will regret having to do, for a long while. Then, he releases Zafar. 

He is still unconscious and far too weak to feed, which in some ways, makes things easier. Ayden slakes his own thirst on the corpses of the Sarafan and then, carrying the limp form of his brother over his shoulder he ascends the stairs, He pauses briefly at the top of the first flight to check that the corridor to the torture chambers is still clear. From the sounds issuing from the furthermost room, the two humans, whose conversation he had eavesdropped on earlier, are still hard at work. He turns away and starts to climb the second flight.

As Ayden reaches the topmost stair, a siren suddenly blares out. He pauses for a second. There is a strange, warning glow of green in the power indicator of the ward-gate that once protected the doors to the outside. It is still connected! Hastily, Ayden throws Zafar through and then rolls through the opening after him, just as the green ward-curtain snaps into place. 

Agony! He has been burnt as never before. His skin is on fire. He bites deep into his wrist to stifle the roar of pain that threatens to escape his lips. A cold sweat breaks out on his skin, inflaming the burns still further. But he is out! Slowly, Ayden removes his teeth from his wrist; the wounds healing almost instantly. He hoists Zafar onto his shoulder, and runs lightly over the wooden bridge that spans the moat, fading into mist-form just as a troop of four Sarafan soldiers comes crashing out of the door. The men don't even look across the moat to where he is standing. They are more concerned that the bridge has been left down during an alert. Hurriedly, they lift up the flimsy gangway and lock it into place against the wall of the keep, and then they head back inside, locking and barring the doors behind them. It doesn't occur to any of them, that these actions might have been taken too late.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ayden turns away from the keep and heads down the path to the carrion-pit. Even at this time of year, the stench is appalling. The pit is edged by a high wall which serves the double purpose of security and keeping all evidence of Sarafan atrocities away from the prying eyes of Meridian's population, though the smell is surely enough to tell the truth to any who would know it. 

Ayden walks into the pit, ignoring the stench and balancing lightly on the unevenly yielding flesh beneath his feet. He scales the crumbling brickwork of the wall with ease. When he reaches the top of the wall, he finds his luck has held; it is flat and just wide enough to walk on, wide enough for a vampire, that is. Once, it was protected by coiled wire, specially designed to repel intruders, razor-sharp barbs, knotted along its length, but now, the wire is rusted and broken, and in many places, it has disappeared completely. Ayden climbs onto the top of the wall, balancing with ease on the crumbling bricks. He runs along the edge, leaping over any remnants of the wire, until it is possible for him to drop down into one of the deserted streets below.

Beyond the keep, Meridian lies wrapped in velvet darkness, waiting silently for the sun to rise. In the hour before dawn, almost everything sleeps. With a last glance up at the keep, Ayden begins the long journey home.

_Review responses_

_Dark Sephiroth__, Thanks for the suggestion of how I should have dealt with Rahab. Lol :) I think I'll stick to my original storyline, if you don't mind tho'. Don't  think we have halogen torches in medieval Nosgoth._

_Syvvia __Nice to have you along, I'll be watching for any updates from you too._

_Aquasword__ Yeah, I never liked Raz, really, (Sorry Raz fans!) I find I can have more fun with the other boys 'cos so little is known about them and their actions._

_Tom T. Thomson__ Now you have two chapters. Hope you like 'em!_

_Golden Seraph__ These two stories are meant to be linked and consistent with each other. Let me know if I slip up on that, tis easy done I fear, even with something you've written yourself!_

_PheonixFlame6__  I hope it isn't over too! Dark Awakening that is. Glad you like this one so far._

_Nocturnally-Dammned__ You know something, this was actually the first time I've felt I ought  to apologize to one of my characters for the way I've treated them, 'cos I was feeling sorry for him, too! But I couldn't let sentiment get in the way of a good story now, could I? Ayden doesn't agree with this decision, of course. He's sulking a bit at the moment, despite the apology, and throwing words like 'sadistic', 'bloodthirsty' and 'bitch', in my direction. Oh well, if the cap fits…_


	4. Chapter 4 Father and Son

**4 Father and Son******

Rahab is waiting for Ayden when he returns, Inah standing at his side. As soon as he sees what Ayden has brought with him, Inah starts forward.

You damned fool!" he cries. "What have you done now?"

Rahab raises a hand to silence him.

"He has done more than you have Inah." He says. "He has achieved what you had told me was impossible, even with an army."

Inah stares at them. He looks at Zafar and then at Ayden, his face contorted with rage and disbelief.

"How…?" He starts. 

Rahab turns to him sharply. "You are dismissed." He says. 

"But Sire!"

Rahab raises his brows, and looks at him. Inah dare not disobey. Still glaring, he bows to his sire, and stalks out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ayden and Rahab stand facing each other in the cold stone hall. Gently, Ayden lays Zafar on the ground. He is still alive, but only just.

"I know this is not what you ordered," he says. "But I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't leave him there."

He stands, head bowed, waiting for Rahab to say something. He has disobeyed his sire twice now, and the first time had been enough to teach him the consequences of such reckless behaviour. But as he waits, he realizes he does not care about the consequences, or Rahab's displeasure, for that this time at least, he knows that what he has done, is right. 

Rahab however, says nothing, all his attention is turned towards Zafar. He kneels beside the broken body of his second-born, stroking back the matted strands of hair that have fallen across his face, his mind searching for any flicker of consciousness that might be able to hear him. Gently, he takes one of his hands, silently taking note of the bruises and the broken bones. He whispers to his child, soft words of comfort and promises that he will be avenged, but he doubts, that he is heard. He can only sense the vaguest signs of thought or feeling in the wounded vampire. He is sure that he feels pain, but he is probably aware of nothing else. At length, Rahab stands up; he looks at Ayden. His next words are spoken very quietly.

"Five nights ago, a letter was handed to me, signed by the Sarafan Lord himself. He assured me no permanent damage would be done to my child, and he invited me to treaty for his release. I was seriously considering entering into negotiations." Rahab looks down for a minute, his pale face set like stone. "And now, you bring me this. Evidently, the man takes me for a fool, or a weakling." He looks up at Ayden, his eyes blazing with a cold fire. "We shall teach him the error of those suppositions." He says. Slowly, Ayden bows his head in acquiescence. For a long while, neither of them says anything. Finally, Rahab breaks the silence. "Ayden," he asks. "Were you able to find out how much Zafar had told them?" 

Ayden shakes his head. The use of his name has not escaped him, but he gives no outward sign of having noticed his sire's acknowledgement. 

"According to one of their captains," he says, "they were expecting to break him soon, perhaps this very evening, but I don't know if that information is accurate. How much would a Sarafan Captain truly know? They may have broken him already."

Rahab says nothing. He looks down at Zafar again.

"Why did you bring him back?" He asks.

"Would you have had me leave him, my Lord? To die in that place, at their hands?"

"You could have killed him yourself." Rahab says. "It would have been a far less hazardous course of action."

Ayden shakes his head. "And let them defile his body even more than they have already? There was no time, my Lord. I would have been forced to leave before the task could be completed properly. By now, his corpse would be mounted on a pike and displayed for all to see, above their walls. I would not have him shamed like that, and nor would I have our… **the** clan, shamed in such a manner. Besides," he adds, a note of bitterness giving an edge to his voice. "It is hardly **my** place to take his life." _Not any longer._

Rahab shakes his head, and places a hand on his arm. "You are wrong, Ayden," he says, gently, "It **is** your place. You have done more for him than any of us. Finish it." 

He turns on his heel and walks out of the chamber as Ayden kneels and places the point of his dagger at Zafar's breast.

_'Forgive me.'_ He whispers, and then he plunges the blade into his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first, nothing seems to be happening, Zafar lies cold and still beneath his hands, the dagger embedded deeply in his chest. Ayden looks up; slowly, he becomes aware that something has changed. The room is becoming suffused with a soft blue light that is concentrated around himself and the vampire he has just killed, a light that sparkles and moves as he looks at it, almost as if it were alive. 

Zafar's soul rises up from his body and part of himself also rises up to meet it. Amazed, Ayden watches as the ground begins to recede away from his feet. Something touches him, a tingling sensation of light that strokes his chest and then reaches inside, igniting a warmth in the very core of his being. He looks up to see the form of his brother, hovering in the light before him. Then the ground suddenly rushes up to meet him and he re-enters his body with a snap, the shock of the connection sending him sprawling on the floor. As he gazes upwards, Zafar's soul comes plummeting towards him. At the last moment, it stops, hovering just above his face. It appears to extend something like a hand towards him, and Ayden gets a vague sense of recognition. Then, the hand drops onto his chest and the spirit enters him. 

The pain is intense, starting in his chest and spreading throughout his body. It feels as if his entire ribcage is slowly being torn apart, but although he can feel the pain in all its terrible ferocity, at the same time, it is somehow distant, as though it is happening to someone else, and it does not matter. A feeling of peace, such as he has never known, suffuses his entire being. 

He surrenders to the feelings, to the pain and the peace, as the last trace of the being that was once Zafar embraces him and dies. Slowly, these sensations start to ebb, the pain receding and the lights also fading away, until the hall is dark once more, wreathed in its accustomed shadows. Looking up into the darkness, Ayden is suddenly very aware that he is alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning finds the Sarafan keep in turmoil. Agrippa is standing before the long oak table in his quarters, an untouched breakfast of fried eggs, bacon and bread cooling and congealing on the plate before him. On the other side of this table, stand three of his captains. All three men are quite literally shaking in their boots. The loss of the vampire prisoner is a catastrophe, not only have the Sarafan lost a potential source of information, but much more importantly, they have also lost face. 

"Heads will roll!" Agrippa had stormed, and no one present had doubted that this threat was meant to be taken literally. Even before his arrival from Willendorf, Agrippa had the reputation of being a harsh and uncompromising leader, a reputation, which he has more than lived up to since taking up residence in Meridian's keep. The three captains know that someone will have to be blamed for this incident and at this particular moment, it looks very likely to be one of them.

"What happened?" Agrippa demands of them.

"Well, Sir," Ventures the most senior of the men. "There were several incidents in the keep last night, but we are not entirely sure they were all related. For example, three guards were killed in the dungeons, but we think that might have been the work of the prisoners."

Agrippa fixes him with a steely stare.

"The prisoners?" He asks

"Yes, Sir."

"Did any prisoners go missing last night? Apart from the vampire, that is."

The man shakes his head. 

"No, Sir." He says. "Not that we know of."

Agrippa leans forward, resting his weight on his fists, his knuckles churning the soft, scarlet cloth that drapes the table. 

"So, you're telling **me**," he says with heavy sarcasm, " that an unknown number of prisoners got loose in the dungeons, last night. That they killed three of the guards, and then, to crown their achievements, they made no attempt to escape, but instead, went and locked themselves back in their cell with one of the bodies?"

The man does not reply, he swallows hard and tries vainly to escape Agrippa's increasingly threatening stare. The story that he and the other two captains had agreed upon earlier, no longer sounds quite so plausible. The truth is, they did think some of the human prisoners might have escaped the dungeons, but they don't know how many, because no one has any idea how many prisoners there were in the cells in the first place. So many people have passed through the Sarafan dungeons in the past few months, that very little care has been taken with keeping the records up to date, but with the vampire prisoner gone, and Agrippa on the warpath anyway, the three captains had felt it might be prudent to keep this fact to themselves

Agrippa draws himself up to his full height and smashes his fists down upon the table, his untouched breakfast flying in all directions. "Were you born a complete moron?" He thunders at the hapless soldier. "Or have you achieved this status after several years of practice?"

The captain continues standing to attention, he looks fixedly ahead and makes no attempt at replying to this insult.

"Take him outside and execute him." Agrippa orders. "But only do that **after** you have questioned him. He's either a fool or a conspirator, and by sundown, I expect to know which it is."

The captain is led away and Agrippa turns his attention to the two other soldiers remaining before him. 

"Now," he says. "Let me hear what you have to say."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, the investigation is well underway and Agrippa is sure he is in possession of at least some of the facts. He has two known deserters, both of whom went missing last night and, he suspects, were working for the vampires. One of these men was supposed to be guarding the west dock by the main gate, and the other was one of the guards assigned to watch outside the vampire's cell. Between them, he suspects, these men had killed the three guards in the dungeon, and possibly the other guard outside the cell too, unless he was also a traitor. 

The prisoners in the dungeons have been questioned with some of them insisting that it was a vampire that had done the killing, but more had confirmed his own suspicions, saying that the murderer had been wearing Sarafan armour. 

After killing the four Sarafan soldiers in the interrogation room, the traitors had released the vampire and somehow, smuggled him out of the keep, disabling the ward-gates, which had been activated in the prison wing when the alarm was sounded.

Such treachery comes as no surprise to Agrippa. He is a man of few scruples himself, so he has no illusions about what depths one might sink to in order to achieve ones ends. What has shocked him, is the appallingly lax security that this incident has uncovered, and the fact that many high-ranking Sarafan seem to accept this as a perfectly normal and acceptable state of affairs. A few more executions for dereliction of duty should cure that, he thinks, but his main priority now, must be to find out how many traitors still lurk amongst the Sarafan of Meridian and then, to eliminate them. He needs men about him that he can trust. 

A timid knock at the door breaks across his thoughts. A flunkey enters at his command, bringing in a second breakfast on a silver tray. Agrippa points at the table, and waits while the man sets it down and uncovers the dishes. He falls to eating as soon as this is done, pushing the food into his mouth with a distinct lack of finesse. As the flunkey leaves, Agrippa's secretary enters. 

"Lord Agrippa," he says bowing. "I do hope I'm not disturbing you…"

"Of course you're bloody disturbing me!" Agrippa says, speaking with his mouth full. He glares at the secretary, continuing to shovel food into his mouth while the man waits nervously, to see if he should continue.

"Well?" Says Agrippa.

"Your correspondence, Sir." Replies the secretary, trying not to show how affronted he is by the Lord's rather appalling lack of manners. Agrippa gestures impatiently at him with his fork.

"Read it to me."

There is little of interest, a few reports from other Sarafan strongholds, a request for more men to be sent to Willendorf, which is being sorely pressed by the vampire known as Turel, and a personal letter from his wife. Agrippa drums his fingers impatiently on the table as the secretary begins to read this particular missive. 

Apparently, his wife is finding the winter in Willendorf disagreeably cold and she is wondering if it would be possible for her and their daughters to at least, spend the rest of the winter in Meridian, where the weather is considerably milder. As a further incentive, she adds they would also have the advantage of being closer to him, pointing out that it would undoubtedly be pleasant to spend some time together as a family, since his duties have kept them apart for so very long.

Agrippa frowns. The company of his wife is the last thing he desires. She was the daughter of his captain in Stahlberg, a good soldier who had also been blessed with an uncommon degree of political sense. Agrippa had learned much from him in his first years in the Sarafan army, and even as a callow youth, he could see this man was destined to rise. 

Agrippa had courted his captain's rather insipid daughter with the sole intention of using their relationship to hasten his own promotion. A scheme, which had worked out excellently for him, until the time when he had been promoted above his father-in-law and his wife was suddenly of no further use to him. 

The marriage had not been a particularly productive one. His wife has produced a son for him, a rather dull lad, of indolent habits who has grown up spoilt and lazy. Not only does he seem devoid of ambition, but recently, he has developed a tendency to indulge rather too heavily in the pleasures of the tavern and the whorehouse; Agrippa has had to use his influence more than once, to save the boy from the consequences of his drunken escapades. 

The only good thing he can see in his son, is that he has been blessed with an uncommon amount of greed, a characteristic, which he has undoubtedly inherited from his father. Agrippa is sure he can use it to mould the boy into something more to his liking. 

He has found a place for Lucius in the Sarafan army and he has also ensured his promotion to the rank of captain. Once he has him away from the softening influence of his mother, Agrippa is sure he will be able to shape him into a competent soldier and more importantly, into a worthy successor. 

After his son, his wife had given him two daughters and after that, Agrippa had decided that marital intimacy was not worth troubling himself with. As he had said to his wife, he did not wish to be responsible for siring a pack of horse-faced and unmarriageable females. Nor does he wish to have them living anywhere near him.

"If the lady finds Willendorf cold." He tells the secretary. "Tell her to buy another blanket." 

There is a final letter, a rather terse note from his son, informing his father that he will be arriving in Meridian that evening. Agrippa smiles inwardly at the resentful tone of the letter. The boy may chafe at the restrictions he has imposed on him, but he will do as he is told, Agrippa's unmerciful control of his finances leaves him little choice in the matter.

Agrippa finishes eating his breakfast.

"No more men will be sent to Willendorf." He says to the secretary. "Tell Augustus he must manage with what he has. We have campaigns of our own to wage. Oh, and recall Ward." He adds as an afterthought. "He's too good a man to let go. Far better than the rest of the shower I've been left with here."

The secretary bows and then leaves the room, shuffling the sheaf of notes he has been holding like a shield, throughout the interview. 

Agrippa gets up from the table. He walks over to the door, an unpleasant smirk spreading slowly across his features as he does so. He thinks he might start the day with an impromptu inspection of the keep, just to see how seriously his men are taking the present situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At sundown, another unfortunate is standing before the table in Agrippa's quarters; his son, Lucius has arrived from Willendorf.

The youth stands sullenly in front of his father, trying none too hard to mask his increasing boredom, while Agrippa lectures him, at great length, on exactly what his expectations are.

The move from Willendorf had not been Lucius' idea at all; he had liked it there. All the taverns and the card games in that city had been open to him. It is where his friends are, and even more important, it is where his mother is, the one person who can be relied upon to supplement his meagre income in times of need. Now he is in Meridian, Lucius knows he will be subject to his father without any mitigating influences to soften his rule and it is a prospect he finds profoundly depressing. 

Agrippa looks at the boy and sighs inwardly. Even after four years training as a Sarafan knight, Lucius still looks uncomfortable in armour. He is strong enough, and reasonably well-formed, with fair hair and broad features, but he is also clumsy, even cutting himself on his own sword during basic training, and, his father realizes with disgust, he is beginning to run to fat. His appearance suggests he would be more suited to some form of simple manual labour rather than soldiering and looking at him, Agrippa finds it almost impossible to imagine Lucius successfully engaging a vampire in swordplay. The boy is, he admits, something of a disappointment.

The truth is, Lucius would never have chosen the soldier's trade willingly. Had he been asked what he wanted to do with his life, he would have taken almost any other path in preference, but, unfortunately for Lucius, no one **had** asked him. So, at the age of twenty-four, he is trapped, and all he really wants, is to find somewhere within the Sarafan order where he can be safe and comfortable, somewhere he won't have to work too hard to get the things he wants from life. He is hoping for marriage to a rich wife, or, failing that, a desk job. However, the rich wife shows no sign of materializing, and with Kain's vampires in ascendancy, desk jobs are rather hard to find.


	5. Chapter 5 Siblings, Fledglings and Sires

**_Author's Note._**_ I know everyone in Europe is probably playing Defiance at the moment, but since my copy is stuck in the post somewhere, *sniff, sniff,* I thought I'd update this and carry on writing, to take my mind off it! Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. Review responses are at the end._

**5 Siblings, fledglings, Sires ******

While Lucius is being lectured by his father, Ayden is standing alone in a small, underground room in the heart of the Rahabim Cathedral. 

His clan has but recently completed the process of securing the cathedral complex, and only a privileged few have been granted the luxury of private space. At present, there are few human slaves to attend their needs, though more arrive every day, mainly males, drafted in to work on the building; repairing and altering its structure, to make it more suited to accommodate their masters. Most of these people have sold themselves willingly to the Rahabim in return for guarantees of safety for their villages, a yearly tithe of slaves to be sent to the cathedral, being the usual agreement between the village elders and Lord Rahab. There is much for the slaves to do and not enough of them to do it; they are worked hard and tend to live short lives in the most primitive conditions. Injuries are high among the builders, and at present, sickness is rife in their miserable little camp, undoubtedly brought on by the recent bout of mild, damp weather. 

No slaves can be spared as personal attendants, and in consequence, few of the Rahabim who have been given quarters of their own, have moved into them fully. Ayden is no exception. The room he occupies is practically bare, containing only a table, a wall-mounted mirror, a bed, which has not been made up, and a small trunk, containing his personal possessions. 

He has just finished washing himself, an activity he takes no pleasure in and only does on very rare occasions, despite the Rahabim resistance to the caustic effects of water. He dries his pale skin carefully, rubbing it with a linen towel, until it gleams like ivory. Then, he stands in front of the mirror and carefully combs out his hair, watching the comb as it chases the last drops of water onto the floor. Tonight, he has been instructed to wear his finest clothes. He pulls on a pair of soft leather trousers and a new pair of boots, their black leather, buffed to a soft, satin sheen. His armour has been returned and it is lying on the bed, meticulously cleaned and polished in readiness for him. He dons it and then inspects his appearance in the mirror. 

Despite the state of near perfection it reflects, he does not seem to be content; he gazes critically at the image in front of him. He has no sword and more importantly, no cloak, nothing to say which clan he belongs to, or if indeed, he belongs to any. He grimaces wryly at his reflection.__

_You're no one. _He tells it._ For all your fine clothes._

There is a soft tap at the door. Almost immediately, it opens and Lord Rahab enters the room; he is also impeccably dressed and clearly in good humour. Tonight they have been summoned to the Sanctuary of the Clans. Rahab's sire, Kain, wishes to be told in person, what had passed on the evening that Ayden entered Meridian's keep. The message from Kain had been characteristically brief, but the tone had been warm and that has done much to lift Rahab's mood. 

It is some considerable time since Rahab has felt anything like approval from his lord. The crushing blow delivered by Agrippa earlier that year, had left the Rahabim severely weakened and demoralized. When he had gone to Kain for counsel, Kain simply offered the following:

"One finds strength, through resolving one's own difficulties, Rahab. Strong leadership can not develop from reliance on others." 

Although he knew there was truth in these words, that had not made them any easier to accept. The last few months have seen the Rahabim beset by problems, forced to work alongside the other clans through sheer lack of numbers and losing yet more of their own in each major campaign, until now, they number just over fifty able-bodied warriors. Secretly, Rahab had begun to doubt he would ever be able to turn the fortunes of his clan around, and throughout all this time, Kain has remained aloof. Rahab knows how significant the summons to the Sanctuary is. It means that he is at least, beginning to regain his sire's respect, and that Kain, once more, deems him worthy of attention.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rahab smiles at Ayden, as he walks into the room. He holds out a neatly folded parcel of cloth to his firstborn; it is a new cloak of deep sea-green, with the Rahabim symbol woven in white at its edge. Silently, Ayden takes it from his hands, bowing in thanks. When he has fastened it in place, Rahab proffers a second item to him, a sword.

It is an extraordinarily fine weapon. The pommel is set with a sphere of milky aquamarine, held caged between four plain, silver bars. As he takes it from Rahab, the stone catches the light and a star suddenly blazes from within its clouded depths. Carefully, Ayden removes the blade from its scabbard. It whispers to him, as it is unsheathed, and when it is revealed, he cannot help but catch his breath. It is flawless, a cold and deadly beauty worked in steel. A thin line of runes is its only decoration, along with the Rahabim symbol, inlaid in deep green enamel, and enclosed within a pale turquoise circle, set at the very top, just below the guard. The balance is perfect; even to hold it, is a pleasure.

"It's beautiful." Ayden says, eventually. "I don't think I have ever seen such fine workmanship."

Rahab smiles.

"Well put it on." He says. "And hurry up. We are going to be late."

Ayden does as he is bid, but as he fastens the sword-belt around his waist, he is put in mind of another weapon, a plainer sword, taken from a Sarafan knight, many years before. It was a utilitarian piece, almost ugly in fact, designed for hard wear and made with no concessions to please the eye. It had never quite fitted his hand, but nonetheless, it had served him well, and he had felt the need for no other, until the night his sire had broken it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just over two hours later, they are entering the Sanctuary of the Clans. An intricate mosaic is being laid in the main courtyard and they have to pick their way carefully through the piles of tiny marble tiles left out in readiness for work to begin in the morning. Rahab's brother, Zephon, is leaning against the wall, just in front of the main entrance. He breaks into a slow, sly smile as they approach.

"The others have all gone in," he says. "But I thought I'd wait out here for a while." 

Rahab bows to him, but he doesn't say anything in reply; relations between them are still not entirely friendly. Zephon takes his arm, leaving Ayden to walk behind. 

"Well," he purrs in Rahab's ear, as they walk through the immense gilded doors and into the building. "I must say, brother, I'm almost impressed." 

Rahab arches an eyebrow.

"Almost?" He asks.

Zephon nods, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. He knows what Rahab would like to hear, indeed, what he deserves to hear, but he is not going to give him the satisfaction. Zephon's refusal to lend any aid to the Rahabim earlier, has meant that Zephon now, has no share in the glory, and that has piqued him somewhat. Besides, there is no advantage to be gained from merely being nice. 

"Does that mean I can count on your support, the **next** time?" Rahab says pointedly. "Because this is far from over, Zephon."

Zephon gives a nonchalant shrug before he makes his reply. A calculated gesture, undoubtedly intended to infuriate his normally placid sibling. 

"I'll think about it," he says. 

Unexpectedly, Rahab grabs his shoulder and Zephon finds himself slammed hard against the wall.

"Well think fast, little brother," Rahab hisses, his forearm pressing uncomfortably into Zephon's throat. "Because already, I am almost out of patience with you." 

Zephon knocks his hand away and stands up, brushing himself down in annoyance; he hadn't anticipated such a strong reaction.

"I do what I like and no one dictates to me." He says, sullenly, straightening his cloak with an aggrieved little tug. "Especially not you!"

Rahab glares at him.

"Don't make me pull rank Zephon. Just because I don't make a habit of it, doesn't mean to say I can't." 

Furiously, Zephon bares his fangs. He crouches down, ready to spring an attack. In the same instant, Rahab has turned to face him, his eyes alight with anticipation.

Suddenly, a hand is placed on his shoulder. Rahab whirls around to find Raziel, Kain's firstborn, standing behind him. The sight of his two siblings, apparently about to engage in a brawl like a pair of common fledglings is clearly something he finds most amusing. He looks at Rahab and then at Zephon, both of them still poised to fight. Slowly, they straighten up. Raziel puts an arm around Rahab's shoulders.

"May I suggest we continue this inside?" He says, giving his brother one of his most charming smiles. He puts his other arm around Zephon and steers them towards the room that holds the pillars and Kain's throne. "Are you going to tell me what that was that about?" He asks.

Rahab looks away; he has no wish to discuss his grievance. In retrospect, the quarrel seems rather foolish, especially since he had not needed Zephon's aid in the first place. Raziel turns his attention to Zephon.

"It was nothing," Zephon mutters.

Raziel chuckles. "Oh, really!" he says, shaking his head. " If you are going to lie, at least** try** to make it convincing," 

Zephon glowers. Raziel is annoying him almost as much as Rahab at this point, but he knows better than challenge him; that is one argument he would not walk away from. Raziel continues walking along with them, his arms still about their shoulders and his face set in an easy smile. He knows how irritated Zephon is becoming, and he is enjoying it immensely, but he had a more serious purpose in stopping their quarrel. 

"Forgive my asking," he says, conversationally, "but is it really appropriate to be fighting amongst ourselves? Especially if it's over '**nothing'**. I thought we had a Sarafan Lord to kill. Surely, your petty quarrel shouldn't take precedence over that? I can only imagine what the Master would have said, had he been the one to see you."

Neither Rahab nor Zephon replies to this remark, but they know he is right. Kain would have been most displeased by their coming to blows within the Sanctuary, and they would have received a lot more at his hands, than a gentle scolding. "Anyway," Raziel adds lightly, "even if I am mistaken, and there was sufficient cause, squabbling in the corridors, is so undignified. Don't you think?" 

When they reach the doors to the throne room, Raziel turns to Zephon. 

"Go in, please," he says. "I have something to say to Rahab."

Zephon bows to them both and enters the room and Ayden withdraws a little, positioning himself discreetly out of earshot. As soon as the doors have shut, Raziel turns to his younger brother, a look of gentle reproach on his face. "I confess," he says, "Zephon's actions did not come as too much of a surprise to me, but I am disappointed in you. You have achieved so much recently, against all the odds and yet, you risk it all. And for what? The pleasure of landing a blow on Zephon that he will have forgotten by morning." He shakes his head reprovingly. "Anger can be a useful tool, Rahab, but it needs a clear head and a steady hand to guide it. If you allow it to master you, it will lead you to ruin and your clan along with you." 

Rahab looks down at the ground, tapping a claw impatiently against his thigh, as Raziel delivers this admonishment. When Raziel stops speaking, he looks up, there is not a trace of contrition in his face. Perhaps his behaviour was inappropriate, but still, he resents the interruption. If he had succeeded in striking Zephon even once, then at least, the lecture would have been earned. As it is, he has actually done nothing wrong. He is also annoyed by the implication that Zephon is to be treated more leniently, since Raziel expects less of him. He glowers at his brother.

"Are you finished?" He asks. 

Raziel sighs. "Yes, I'm done," he says. As Rahab turns away to open the door, he puts his hand on his shoulder. "Just consider, please," he says gently. "Would you rather hear this from Kain, or from me?" 

Rahab frowns. "You, I suppose. If I have to hear it at all, that is! You know how it is between me and Zephon," he continues. "He only has to look at me sometimes, and I want to tear his throat out."

Raziel smiles. "Don't we all?" He asks, softly. "But you'd be ill-advised to act on that impulse, especially now; all of us are needed in these troubled times. I wanted to speak with you on another matter, too," he adds, "but there's no time, now. I'm planning something and I may need assistance. Would you be interested in aiding me?"

Rahab smiles back at him. "Of course." He says. "You know, you only have to ask."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kain is already seated on the throne when Raziel ushers them in and Turel, Dumah, Zephon and Melchiah are standing in their accustomed places facing him. Raziel kneels briefly before Kain and then Rahab comes forward to present Ayden.

Nosgoth's would-be emperor listens attentively as Ayden tells the story of his foray into the Sarafan keep. The Cabal still has spies within the keep; most of them servants, and information has already trickled through to Kain, about the Sarafan's reaction to the loss of their prisoner. Kain knows how sorely the pride of the Sarafan Lord has been dented and he also knows of the mistaken conclusions Agrippa has come to regarding the raid. Even now, the Sarafan are looking for traitors within their own ranks and interrogating suspects. It will be extremely demoralizing for them if this process continues for any length of time, and Kain is determined to aid it in any way he can; it will save him a lot of effort, if his enemies eliminate themselves. 

The information about the glyph-batteries comes as a surprise to everyone, as does the fact that the ward-gates are still capable of being activated. 

Kain leans forward, watching Ayden keenly as he questions him about his findings.

"How many ward-gates were activated while you were there?" He asks.

"My Lord, it is hard to say." Ayden replies. The gate that protected the doors to the carrion-pit, was the only one I saw active, but that was the only one I had to pass in order to get out."

Kain leans back, considering. 

"So," he says, "am I right in assuming you saw no sign of the glyph energy being used until the alarm was raised?" 

Ayden nods. "That is correct, my Lord. The pipes and conduits are still in place, all over the building, but they seemed to be dead. Nothing was active anywhere in the keep when I first entered it. Not even in the dungeons."

"And yet," Kain muses, "you tell me batteries had been recently moved, and if they've been moved, it seems reasonable to assume they are being used. For what, I wonder?" He turns to his fifth born. "Zephon, you are to make it your business to find out."

Zephon nods.

Kain stands up. "Thank you." He says to Ayden. "Your account has given us much to consider. If all the Rahabim are as you, your clan will surely become a formidable force."

Ayden bows respectfully. 

"You are dismissed." Says Kain. 

Ayden slowly steps back six paces before turning towards the doors, which now stand open, he is not sure how. He walks out of the room, his steps unhurried, taking care to conceal his relief that the interview is over. He always finds it rather disconcerting being in Kain's presence, as do most clan members; he always has an air of knowing everything, well before he is told, and of knowing a good deal more besides. The doors swing slowly shut, as soon as he is in the corridor and Ayden makes his way to the newly finished Great Hall, to await his lord. 

The hall is not empty, though because of the room's great size, the group of vampires assembled there, seems smaller than it really is. There are representatives from all the clans present, including a small group of Dumahim. Berrin is among their number but he does not notice Ayden, like most of those gathered here, he is intent on watching a pair of Turelim females, who are engaged in a rather vigorous wrestling match, in the far corner. Ayden stands quietly in the shadows, for he had no desire to speak with any of those present, even those of his own clan. He watches the proceedings unseen, mulling over the events of the last two evenings. 

A little while later, the Clan Lords enter the room. As soon as he sees his sire, Ayden walks over to join him. Now, he comes to Berrin's notice. 

Berrin stares, he is both surprised and, he has to admit, a little disappointed, to see that Ayden bears no visible signs of having felt his Lord's displeasure after their raid on the Sarafan. Upon his own return, Berrin had walked straight into Dumah's fists and he is now firmly of the opinion that there are rocks softer than his Lord's hands. 

He strokes his chin, his eyes narrowing as he remembers the agonizing pain of the first blow. It had shattered his jaw and loosened every tooth in his head, those it hadn't broken, that is. He still bears a chipped fang as a reminder, a mark he will carry for the rest of his life. It gives his grin a lopsided and rather roguish quality, which, now that he is recovered, he has to admit, is not entirely displeasing. 

His recovery had been slow, too. For a nearly a week, he had been unable to feed, reduced to daintily sipping from a goblet, like some simpering, human courtier. He had been horribly embarrassed by that, and hidden away as much as possible, but the caves presently inhabited by the Dumahim, hold few hiding places, and it was only a matter of hours before everyone knew what had happened. He had fought quite a few battles that week, with those who had been foolish enough to pass comment. 

His disgrace had not lasted for long, however, Lord Dumah being of hasty temperament, but seldom inclined to bear a grudge. Dumah had sought him out after a couple of nights, and he had laughed so heartily at the sight of his fledgling, that for a few minutes, he had been unable to speak. Berrin had started to laugh as well, for Dumah's mirth was infectious and that had been agonizing too, his discomfort only adding to the merriment. When they had recovered, Dumah had clapped Berrin across the shoulders, his arm striking his back with all the force of a falling tree.

"Come," Dumah said. "I'm planning a new campaign and your skills are needed, if you're fit for duty, that is." Berrin was hardly feeling fit, but he had been at Dumah's side in an instant. 

"Just one thing," Dumah said lightly, as they made their way to his quarters. He had stopped in a quiet place, and Berrin turned to face him, wondering what jest his lord was about to make now. As soon as their eyes met, the smile had died on his lips. Dumah was no longer laughing. He had leaned towards his fledgling, his gaze so intense, that Berrin had wanted to look away, but he did not dare. "You have had a lucky escape." Dumah said quietly. "But do not make the mistake of thinking your disobedience forgotten. You now have to prove to me that you deserve this chance," Berrin nodded his head. "And should I find you wanting, or if you **ever **disobey me again, then I will kill you." Dumah paused for a moment. "Do we understand one another?" He asked, and Berrin had nodded again. "Good." Said Dumah, and with that, he had turned away, leading them into the cave that was presently serving as his quarters.

That exchange was certainly sobering, and Berrin had been worried for quite some time afterwards, but after a few successes on the battlefield, Dumah had made no further reference to the incident, and relations between them now are practically the same as they were before.

Although Berrin knows he has escaped extremely lightly, the sight of Ayden, standing in his accustomed place at Rahab's side, completely uninjured and now being lauded as a hero, still strikes him as being slightly unfair. 

After a few minutes, Raziel leaves the hall, beckoning Rahab to follow him; evidently, there is something further for them to discuss, before they depart. Lord Dumah is still enjoying the spectacle provided by the Turelim and it is obvious he is in no hurry to leave, so Berrin decides to take the opportunity to seek Ayden out, but he cannot see him anywhere. He is not standing with the other Rahabim and when he asks, Berrin is told Ayden left the hall some time ago, but no one seems to know where he went. Eventually, Berrin tracks him down. He is standing alone, outside the entrance to the Sanctuary, his arms folded in front of him, while he looks pensively down at the half-finished mosaic.

"Well," Berrin says, taking in the cut of his clothes and the new sword that hangs by his side. "I don't need to ask how your fortunes have fared, since last we met." 

Ayden turns to face him, his expression slightly perplexed.

"When I got back from that raid on the Sarafan, Lord Dumah almost ruined my good-looks, permanently." Berrin explains. "I've never taken such a beating! I honestly didn't think fists could hurt that much!" He grins broadly, exposing the chipped fang. "When he was finished with me, it took three attempts just to straighten my nose out!" He laughs. "Not to mention all the other bones that had to be set. Don't take this question the wrong way," He adds, giving Ayden a searching look. "But you were actually punished, weren't you?"

Ayden looks at him for a moment. Then he nods.

"Oh, yes." He says. "I was. You need have no fear on that score."

Berrin waits for him to elaborate, the silence growing somewhat strained between them as it becomes evident that Ayden has said all he intends to. 

"Well, you have to agree, it was worth it." Berrin continues jovially, after a minute. "Despite all the pain. It was worth it, just to slip the leash for a few hours. Don't you think?"

Ayden stares at him coldly.

"What I think," he says, "is that Lord Dumah, obviously, didn't hit you hard enough!" He bows to Berrin, his face set with disapproval. "If you'll excuse me." He says, and without waiting for a reply, he walks back into the Sanctuary. Berrin gapes after him; they have been acquainted for years, but this rigid, humourless creature is nothing like the Ayden he had known previously. Whatever punishment was meted out, appears to have changed him completely. Berrin shivers. He is suddenly grateful he is Dumahim. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ayden does not have much longer to wait for Rahab. As soon as he appears, the Rahabim leave. As they make their way back to the cathedral, Rahab outlines the plans he has been making with Raziel. Raziel intends to take control of the Great Highway to the northwest of Meridian. If he succeeds, the Sarafan will be unable to move any significant number of soldiers out of the city and into his territories. At present, the stretch of road nearest to Meridian is protected by a hill fort, positioned ten miles outside the city walls, in a hamlet so small, it does not even have a name. If the Sarafan can be persuaded to abandon this outpost, Raziel will gain a significant advantage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They arrive at the cathedral about three hours before the sun is due to rise. Ayden follows Rahab to his quarters. They are located close to his own room, in the very heart of the building, where no natural light ever penetrates. Ayden closes the heavy door behind them, and then takes a taper and lights the lamps, just as he has always done, carrying the tiny flame from one lamp to the next until the room is bathed in soft, golden light. Unlike most of the rooms in the cathedral, these chambers are almost finished. The wooden floor is made of tiny diamond shaped tiles, arranged to form an elaborate starburst in the centre of each room, almost black at the centre and fading through gold to the palest cream at the edges. The craftsmen who created it must have scoured the whole of Nosgoth to find such a variety of timbers. The furniture is sparse but ornate, the heavy couches and chairs all covered in the same sea-green brocade, their gilded scrolls carefully polished to reflect the lamplight. One wall of the room is entirely lined with books and the wall opposite has a large fireplace, though this has clearly never been used, above it, hangs an enormous gilt mirror. At present, the door to the bedchamber stands ajar, revealing a huge circular bed, with sheets of blood red silk, draped over with yet more of the green brocade.

Rahab appears slightly distracted; he walks straight into his study, without saying a word to his fledgling. Ayden can hear him, as he walks around the desk, rustling the papers, which are invariably strewn across its surface. 

When every lamp has been lit, Ayden walks over to the door. He takes off his cloak along with the sword Rahab had given him earlier. He folds the cloak neatly and places the sword on top of it. Then he stands, holding them before him and waits patiently for Rahab to reappear. At last, Rahab re-enters the room.

"Am I dismissed?" Ayden asks.

Rahab smiles. "Not yet." He says.

Ayden holds the cloak and sword out to him. 

"What would My Lord have me do with these?" 

Rahab stares. He is genuinely shocked by the question.

"You're to keep them, of course. Ayden, that sword was forged for you."

Ayden bows low.

"Thank you." He says. "I am humbled by My Lord's generosity. Truly. I would not have deemed myself worthy of such a gift."

Rahab looks at him in astonishment. This is unexpected. The evening is not ending at all, as he had thought. He decides to ignore this last remark.

"Tell me," he says, recovering his composure a little. "Why would you be in such a hurry to leave, anyway? It's not as if you have any duties to attend. Stay a while." He walks over to Ayden, and gives him an encouraging smile. "I've sent down for a couple of slaves." He says, knowing this will be an enticing prospect. "A pair of young females. That should be enough to keep us fed and… ah…  entertained, should it not?" He waits for a reply, and when none is forthcoming, he inclines his head questioningly to his firstborn. 

"Ayden?"

Ayden bows his head.

"I will do whatever My Lord commands, of course." He says.

Rahab lays a hand on his shoulder, hiding his disappointment at the coldness of this response.

"I never had to command your company before," he says softly. "I don't do it now."

Ayden turns away, his lips brushing lightly across his sire's fingers as he does so, so lightly in fact, that when he reflects upon it later, Rahab is not quite sure if the contact was accidental or not.

"Thank you My Lord, but I doubt I would be pleasant company. If it's all the same to you, I would rather be alone."

**_Review Responses_**

_First of all, am slightly hungover this morning/afternoon, so, forgive me if not all of this makes sense. Secondly. Thank you all for reviewing, I really appreciate it. _

**_Silmuen: _**_*Waves madly to you* You read it? You like it? Praise indeed, coming from the author of 'Firstborn'! Thank you._

**_Nocturnally Damned:_**_ Yeah, Agrippa and Lucius are a truly delightful pair, aren't they? Why Agrippa's wife wants to spend any time at all with him, I can't imagine. I'd have bought the extra blankets and kept quiet! You can be sure I'm going to give Lucius plenty of chances to show off all his good qualities in the next couple of chapters, too.  ^_^_

**_Syvia:_**_ Another Lucius fan? So glad you like him. I hadn't thought of him as normal, but yes, you're right, he is, unfortunately. I think we've all met people like that!_

**_Vladimir's Angel: _**_Thank you so much for your comments. I love it when people tell me the lines they like best, it helps me to see which bits of the story are working._

**_Tom T.Thompson:_**_ Glad you enjoyed chpt 3._

**_Dark Sephiroth:_**_ Hmmm. Don't like Talia eh? 'Silly' eh? Is this because she's a girl and she hasn't killed anything, yet? ^_^ Or do we have a more serious problem? Be a little more specific with your criticism, if you can, please ;) Glad you liked chpt 4, anyway. And if you think we are spending too much time with the Sarafan, you'll just have to be patient I'm afraid. After all, it would be very rude to start killing people before they have been properly introduced!_

**_Thug-4-less: _**_Thank you so much for your comments. As to Ayden's powers, we are dealing with a fairly young vampire here, he's only 30yrs. old, so I've taken the approach that he will be faster, more agile and stronger than a human, but nothing like some of the more highly evolved vamps you meet in the games. Of course, he has just acquired another Dark Gift, but I'm not saying what that is at the moment ;) As to feeding, it's pretty much fangs-on, I think! _

**_Aquasword:_**_ Yeah, Zafar's free….* has another small, guilty moment about ill-treating her vampires*  Didn't do him much good did it? But we couldn't just leave him there. Sarafan will get come-uppance at some point, rest assured._


	6. Chapter 6 A New Commission

**6 A New Commission  ******

In the days following the breach of Meridian's keep, Agrippa sets about the task of strengthening the city's defences. Extra men now patrol the city walls and reinforcements are to be sent to all the forts that guard the surrounding areas. 

Talia's squad has a new posting too; they are to be stationed at the fortress on the Great Highway to the northwest of the city, along with their new captain, Lucius. 

Agrippa has taken a lot of care in choosing the soldiers who are to serve under his son. He is counting on Ward's old troop being experienced enough to cover any minor blunders the lad might make, and much as he hates to admit it, for he knows it reflects badly upon him, Agrippa is expecting Lucius to make mistakes. 

The location where Lucius will be serving has also been given careful consideration. It is not in a particularly safe position, being close to the lands claimed by Kain's first Lieutenant, Raziel, but it is fairly remote. That should preclude the boy from getting into any more trouble with women or running up unmanageable debts, two things he would be almost certain to do, if he stayed in Meridian, and if he should also chance to see a little action, while he is stationed there, it will undoubtedly be of great benefit to him. Somehow, Lucius managed to miss every major battle while he was stationed in Willendorf, and his father feels sure this unhappy circumstance is the main reason for the boy's rather unsoldierly demeanour. That Lucius' failure to see action, might not have been entirely a matter of chance, does not occur to him.

As Agrippa contemplates the plans he has made for Lucius, he thinks he has covered every possible angle. He has even drafted a letter to the fort commander, priming him to keep Lucius away from the city and to hold him in check. Unfortunately, there are two things he has overlooked, despite his careful planning, things, which could very easily bring all his schemes to ruin; he has grossly underestimated both his son's stupidity and his arrogance.

Lucius has been given a short reprieve from being posted to the fort; he is to spend an extra day with his father, in Meridian. However, he does not appreciate this gesture at all, when he learns how Agrippa intends him to use the time. His father has made appointments with all his major creditors and now, he forces Lucius to watch, while he arbitrarily distributes his son's meagre savings and places his finances into some semblance of order. Needless to say, Agrippa does not forgo the opportunity of giving Lucius yet another, lengthly lecture on his profligate habits.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rather than have them wait for their new captain, Agrippa orders Talia's troop directly to the fort. He has received intelligence that an attack may be imminent, and he wishes to take no chances. 

They set off just after noon, three heavily laden wagons accompanying them on their journey, they are carrying a few general supplies, but mainly, they are laden with barrels of naphtha, a tarry substance commonly used by the Sarafan to defend fortified positions against assault. The horses make slow progress, for the road has been poorly maintained in recent years deteriorating into little more than a mud track in places where the heavy wagons sink in the soft ground and get stuck in the ruts. 

All afternoon, a dense bank of grey cloud advances steadily towards them. Talia shudders as she looks up at it; there is something almost threatening in the way its hard edge challenges the brightness of the day. It is as though some giant hand were slowly drawing a cover across the wintry sky. As the little party trudges wearily up the winding path to the fort, the sky is almost completely obscured. The merciless clouds racing now, to smother the last remnants of the dying sun, and bringing darkness to the land, well in advance of its appointed hour. It is colder too; the rain, which has been stinging their faces for the last half hour, turning to sleet, as they wait to be granted admittance to the fort.

At last, the guard who had taken their papers away for verification returns. The barrels have been the cause of much of the delay, for Naphtha is not generally kept within the fort, and the arrival of such a large amount was thought, almost certainly, to have been a mistake, for nature has provided a much better substance to be used in this place's defence, water. The fort is positioned on a rocky outcrop at the foot of the mountains that rise along the eastern side of the road. Nestled between these peaks, is a deep lake. For centuries, this water has been piped directly to the fort, hundreds of gallons being kept in permanent storage in reservoirs and tanks. If the fort should ever be attacked by vampires, the defenders have enough water to burn every demon in Nosgoth. 

However, the papers are in order, and no mistake appears to have been made, so eventually, the portcullis is raised and the troop is allowed to enter the tiny courtyard in front of the keep. Here, they are kept waiting again, growing ever colder and more impatient, while the barrels are unloaded and stowed safely away. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they are finally ushered inside, Geddes, the sergeant temporarily in command of the company, requests an immediate meeting with the fort commander. The rest of the troop, make their way to the mess-hall. They are tired, caked in mud and, now they can smell food, suddenly very hungry. 

The servants are just clearing the tables after the evening meal. Dorton looks wistfully at the empty plates being carried into the kitchens. 

"Bread and cheese in the pantry." One of the stewards tells her, as he pushes past. Dorton pulls a face. 

"Nothing hot?" She asks.

"Fraid not." 

"Damn!" Dorton mutters.

"Damn indeed!" Talia agrees. It is not much of a welcome. 

She pushes open one of the heavy doors and walks into the hall. It is practically full, the occupants are mostly male but there are a few women too. Everyone is relaxing after their meal, most with mugs of ale in front of them. A few look up as she enters.

"Can anyone point me in the direction of the wash-rooms?" Talia asks, "I need to get some clean clothes."

One of the men stands up. He is an enormous man with a bull neck, his hair so closely cropped that is little more than silvery stubble, sprinkled over his scalp. He lets out a laugh at her question, a ribald cackle of amusement, before he turns to face the company.

"D'ye hear that lads?" He yells. "This one 'as to wash 'er clothes. I bet she 'asn't  changed her knickers for a week!"

Everybody sitting at the table bursts out laughing and Talia scowls at his back, but when he turns around and she sees who it is, she lets out a delighted yelp, and instead of giving him the box on the ears which she was intending, in spite of his rather daunting size, she flings her arms around his neck. 

"Buller!" She cries, rubbing his scalp with almost aggressive affection. "What are you doing here? I thought you were stationed in Stahlberg."

"Same as you I guess. Fightin' vampires. That is why **you're** 'ere ain't it Locke? Or did you find a new job, as a laundry-maid?" 

Talia cuffs his ear affectionately in reply.

"They won't  'ave 'im anywhere else." The soldier sitting beside him interjects. "'es 'ad our company thrown out of every other fort in Nosgoth! If 'e misbehaves 'ere, Gawd only knows where we'll end up! Probably end up dismissed from the Sarafan and haf to switch sides."

Another soldier leans across the table.

"You want to watch wot yer sayin'." He growls. 

The soldier raises his hands defensively.

"It was a joke," he says. "A joke!"

"Well, it weren't funny! This is no time to be talkin' like that!" A few of the others mutter assent, shaking their heads in disapproval of such careless talk. The subject of Sarafan turning traitor is not one they wish to have broached, even in jest.

Just then, the door bangs open again. A few seconds later, Dorton staggers into the room, she is struggling with both her bags and Talia's. She dumps them on the ground with a look of disgust.

"That's right!" she says to Talia. "Leave me to carry the bags why don't you? While you go off fraternizing with the locals!" 

Buller looks at her, his brows raised. "Fraternizing!" He says, with an impudent grin. "Did you know you was **fraternizing**, Locke?" 

Talia laughs. 

"Did you know you were a local?" She asks, "I could swear you'd be more at home in the Smuggler's Den."

Buller looks over to Dorton. "That's a very big word for a little gal like you to be using." He says.

Talia pokes him sharply in the ribs.

"This is Dorton," she says, pulling her forwards into the light from the lamps. "And as you can see, she's a very sophisticated lady and highly educated." She gives Buller an exaggerated wink. "Out of your league, in other words!" 

Buller turns to Dorton and takes her hand, very delicately. 

"Charmed to meet yer, M'Lady," he says, planting a wet, slobbery kiss on the back of her hand. Dorton looks down at him, grimacing in amused disgust while the hall erupts into cat-calls and sniggers. "H'ignore them!" Buller says, trying unsuccessfully to slip an arm around her waist.

"Careful, Buller." Talia warns. "This one's more dangerous than she looks! She'll drink **you** under the table, no bother!" 

Buller begins to look at Dorton with something approaching respect. 

"Like **you** did last time?" He asks Talia, sarcastically.

Talia chuckles. "No, properly. This woman has an iron constitution."

"Really, Locke? We'll have to test that out. If the lady is willing, that is." Dorton nods assent with a smile, she could do with a drink and she enjoys a challenge, too. 

Buller looks at Talia. "Care for a re-match?" He asks. "Yer never know, luck might be wiv yer."

Talia shakes her head, her expression suddenly grave.

"Oh no, Buller," she says, placing a hand over her stomach, "I couldn't. Not after last time. I did myself some real damage, you know. I was sick for weeks after. Doctor's told me not to drink anymore. Just one beer might be enough to kill me."

Buller stares at her, his eyes round with astonishment.

"Wot? Seriously?" he asks.

Talia breaks into a grin, delighted at having caught him out. "No, not seriously!" She laughs. "Are you pouring that?" She adds, with a pointed look at the jug of ale in front of him. 

"Thought you had some washin' to do?"

"Ah! It can wait." She winks at him again. "One more day won't make any difference! Give us a minute to dump these bags and we'll be down."

"'ang on!" Buller says. He takes her arm and points towards the door where Jay is now standing, her face tense and her pack held defensively against her chest. 

"Oo's yer po-faced friend?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of the women volunteers to show them to their quarters. The women's dormitory is right at the top of the building, and it makes the accommodation in Meridian look positively luxurious. The room is bare and freezing, despite a small fire which burns in the grate at the far end. There are four unoccupied bunks, their heads pressed close against walls, which are glazed with condensation. Strong draughts blow through the many cracks and holes in the ancient stonework and frost is already forming on the inside of the windowpanes. As a consolation, each bed is piled high with thick, woollen blankets. 

"Gets really cold up here, I'm afraid." The woman says. "If you haven't got chilblains now, I guarantee you'll have 'em by the end of the week. I'm Doyle." She adds, holding out a hand. Talia takes it. 

"Locke." She says. "And this is Dorton." She turns away, struggling to stifle a yawn. "And Jay should be here, in about two or three minutes. She tends to lag behind a bit."

Jay enters the room, right on cue, looking a bit confused at the amusement her arrival seems to have caused. Talia sits down on her bunk and starts cleaning the mud from the bottom of her boots.

"Are they new?" Doyle asks her. "They're nice."

"I wish they felt nice!" Talia replies, pulling one off. "My feet are killing me! Damn!" She mutters. "I've burst a blister." 

She prods gingerly at the patch of raw skin on her heel and then pulls off the other boot and swings her legs on to the bunk; wearily, she lets her head sink down onto her knees. "I'm worn out." She says. "What time are we due to go out, tomorrow? Early or late?" 

"Late, I think."

"Thank God for that!" She rolls over on the bunk and closes her eyes.

"Thought you were coming down for a drink." Dorton says.

Talia opens one eye. "Bring one up to me?"

"You lazy cow! You're not the only one with sore feet. Get it yourself, or you get nothing." 

Talia sits up wearily, grimacing, as she slips her boots on again.

"All right!" she says, yawing. "It was worth a try. You coming Jay?" 

Jay smiles, the first smile Talia has seen since their arrival.

"I don't think so." She says. "I think I'll just stay here."

Talia takes her arm. "You will not!" She says. "It's cold, and it's miserable. What are you going to do up here, on your own?" 

Jay hesitates and starts to make another excuse. Of course, Talia realizes, the girl is terribly shy. She takes hold of her arm and fixes her with a determined stare. "Now look," she says, "the men might seem a bit rough, but they're harmless, really. I know it's a bit awkward, coming into a new place, full of people you don't know, but if you stay up here, it'll just look like you think you're too good to keep company with them, and you don't want that, do you?" Jay shakes her head slowly, but she still looks doubtful. "Then it's settled." Talia says. "You're coming with us."

Reluctantly, Jay allows herself to be led downstairs. She trails behind them on the stairs, her face still far from happy, muttering something about how she doesn't really approve of drinking, not unless it's a special occasion of some sort. The two girls ignore her. As she starts to lag behind again, Dorton turns to Talia.

"You know something," she whispers, "that girl is turning into a real wet blanket."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fortress is much older than the keep at Meridian. The stairs are steep and narrow and the stonework is rough. The walls are formed from flints, fist-sized stones, packed close together to a thickness of several feet thick. Their once pristine outers are stained and grimy, from the constant passage of people inside the fort, and from the relentless pounding of the weather, outside. When the fortress was newly built, it was known as the White Tower and it really was white, but for as long as anyone can remember now, the stonework has been a sallow, dirty grey. Originally, in the very distant past, this building had been occupied almost exclusively by female Sarafan, the sorceresses who had fought the vampires, hundreds of years before Talia was born. 

She looks curiously at the murals painted on the walls, faded by time, and patchy where damp has rotted the plaster. Men and women fighting side by side, just as they do now, but they wear armour made from leather, and they hold archaic weapons in their hands. Dogs, in armoured collars, run at their sides, while the women hold balls of flame in their hands, which they are hurling at their foes. The women fascinate her; they look strange with their shaven heads and old-fashioned dress. The vampires in the murals, look strange as well, almost ordinary, compared to the ones they fight now. There seem to be almost as many females as males and most of them have no armour at all, instead they wear clothes almost identical to those worn by the common folk of their time.

Talia ponders the question of why there are no sorceresses in Nosgoth, now. Were the Sarafan really able to do magic, all those years ago, or do these paintings merely portray a comforting myth? And if people did have such abilities in the past, how is it, she wonders, that they seem to have completely lost them? 

As the doors to the mess-hall swing open, she forgets the murals and sets her mind to more serious subjects, like finding a seat close to the fire and drinking enough beer to anaesthetize herself, before she has to limp back up the three flights of stairs, which stand between her and her bed.


	7. Chapter 7 The Gallant Captain

**A/N **_There, you weren't expecting two chapters were you? Been working on these for a month now, and finally I've reached the point where I think they're ok. They'll do for the moment anyway. Review responses for my three most valued reviewers,(and yes, there are only three of you left *sobs*) are at the bottom._

**7 The Gallant Captain  **

Despite retiring late that evening, they are still woken before first light. Reluctantly, Talia pushes her head above the blankets, just as the bell is rung; her nose is instantly nipped by the cold. Dorton is lying next to her, snoring gently, still fast asleep. Jay however, is wide-awake and sitting up in bed and she is looking smug. Disgustingly smug, Talia thinks. This is not really surprising, for Jay had not even finished her first mug of ale yesterday evening. Instead, she had nursed it on her lap for an hour and then sneaked upstairs, at the first opportunity. Now, she leaps out of bed, breaking the ice in the basins on the washstand with a loud, self-satisfied crack; a second later she is pelted with an assortment of boots and clothing from her disgruntled room-mates.

"Now that wasn't very nice, was it?" Talia reproves her. "You're never going to make friends if you behave like that." She catches sight of Dorton, awake now and clearly hung-over. Talia grins merrily and turns back to Jay. "You should at least, show a little sympathy for the afflicted." She adds. 

Jay sniffs and turns away from them. She sits on her bed, unsmiling and pulls on her clothes with an air of haughty disapproval. 

 Talia gets up and pads across the floorboards, they are so cold, they feel more like stone than wood. She dips a washcloth into the freezing water and then lays it gently across Dorton's forehead; Dorton groans. Then, she opens her eyes and looks around, confused momentarily, to find herself in bed.

"Did I do it?" She asks. "Did I drink him under the table?"

Talia smiles. "Well, I'm not sure," she replies. " We had to carry you upstairs, 'cos you said, your legs weren't working and Buller was **on** the table rather than underneath it, but he was definitely out cold and you could still talk, after a fashion. So I suppose that counts as victory to you."

"Yes!" Dorton exclaims, raising her fist triumphantly, then she winces and sinks back onto the bed. "Remind me not to make any more sudden movements." She says. 

They wash cursorily and then make their way down to the mess-hall. Breakfast will not be served for another two hours but the hall is still busy, mostly with last night's revellers, all of them drinking the bitter brew they call tea; a pungent infusion of willow-bark and other herbs, noted equally for its foul taste and its remarkable ability to relieve the miseries of the hang-over. 

Since they have no captain yet, and therefore, no duties to perform within the fort itself, Talia's squad is ordered down to the hamlet to pick up supplies before breakfast. It is still dark outside, and eerily quiet. They make their way down the stony path, very cautiously, the hard soles of their boots, striking the pebbles noisily, despite their care. A few nocturnal animals can be heard, scuffling away into the dense undergrowth between the trees but nothing else. There are no birds singing and the sky above their heads is empty, save for a few lingering stars. Everyone is armed and on the alert, for even at this late hour, attack by vampires is very much a possibility. 

Jay is even more nervous than usual, jumping at every tiny sound and shadow. An owl glides across their path and she lets out a terrified scream, firing her crossbow wildly. Her startled comrades fling themselves to the ground as the bolt goes whistling over their heads. Too shocked to speak for a moment, they get up, brushing themselves down and searching around to retrieve the weapons they have just dropped. Dorton checks no one has been hurt and then she turns on Jay.

"Any more Sarafan like you," she exclaims, furiously, "and we wouldn't need bloody vampires!" 

As the sky begins to lighten and they near the village, the troop begins to relax a little. 

"Why **did** you sign up?" Dorton asks Jay, she is still angry. "I mean, it wasn't for the social-life, you made that plain enough last night, and I don't mean to be unkind, but you're no great shakes with a bow either, even when you are aiming, not like Locke here. On top of that, every time you go out on patrol, you seem half scared out of your skin. You do realize you nearly killed someone back there, don't you?" She raises her hands in a gesture of exasperation. "I just don't get it," She says. "What made you want to join the Sarafan?"

Jay looks down and takes a deep breath; when she raises her eyes again, her face is practically shining with conviction.

"I signed up because it was **right**." She says. "It was the** right** thing to do. It's a vocation. That's what they told me when I signed up, and it's true. Religion, serving the Sarafan, they're the most important things in my life. I thought all of you would feel that way. Fighting demons is a task for the faithful, though you probably don't agree with that. I assume you're all doing it for the money. None of you seem even remotely interested in spiritual matters." Jay turns to Talia. She still looks up to her, though she is beginning to doubt that she is quite the role-model she had originally thought, but Talia does pray, she has seen her, so perhaps, she will be an ally. "Why did you sign up?" She asks her. "Was your decision based on faith?"

Talia shakes her head. "Not really," she says. "Though I wouldn't say I'm doing it for the money, either. I signed up because of my brother, Stephan."

"I never knew you had a brother." Dorton says.

"He died, nearly four years ago. We were close, you know. I suppose that's why I never talked about him."

"What happened?"

Talia shrugs. "It was stupid really, a prank. The usual nonsense boys get up to. You know I lived on a farm? Well, it's a big place, huge in fact, walled like a fortress, with lots of servants and hired hands living in the house alongside the family. It was mid-Winter and it was freezing, I remember the snow was lying thick on the ground. My brother and a couple of his friends decided that this was an ideal time to play a trick on the serving girls. They snuck out into in the yard around midnight, when everyone was asleep and put their hands in the horse-trough. Plunged them in, right up to their elbows. They kept them there for as long as they were able, until they were literally, ice-cold, then they dried them and crept into the room where the maids were sleeping. One of them shouted 'vampire!' and they all put their hands under the blankets and grabbed the girls. One touch of their cold flesh was all it took to convince the maids they really were being attacked by fiends. They leapt out of their beds, screaming as if they were being murdered. They ran down stairs, still screaming, all in various states of undress, which I suppose was the main motivation behind the trick, and in less than a minute, the entire household was in uproar, half the men looking for weapons and the other half trying to hide behind the terrified womenfolk. 

Unfortunately, my father didn't see the funny side of it. He grabbed hold of my brother, took down his trousers and beat him with his belt, in front of the entire household, maids and servants included. My brother was mortified. He swore he wouldn't stay another moment in the house after being treated so, and he stormed out. 

My father refused to go after him, I don't think he really believed he was going to leave. There was a lot of vampire activity in our area at the time and it would have been suicide to go outside while it was still dark. My father said Stephan would spend the night in the barn and serve him right, too. It would give him time to cool down. I knew that wasn't the case, if Stephan said he was leaving, then, that is what he was going to do, but no one would listen to me and I was too scared to go after him alone. 

We think Stephan was trying to reach the local garrison, he'd told me he was going to join the Sarafan, weeks before this happened, but of course, he never got there. We found his body the next morning, less than two miles from the house. I'd never seen anything like it, the snow was red all around him and whatever had killed him had cut right through his backbone with its claws, five long slashes, from his shoulder, right down to his waist, but the wounds were almost dry, he'd been completely drained of blood. 

After that, there was nothing to keep me at home; he was the only one in my family I ever got on with. I've nothing in common with my sisters, all they wanted to do was get married and start making babies, something they are all very happily engaged in, at this moment. I wanted more, and I wanted vengeance for Stephan, too. I really loved him." She adds softly.

Jay sniffs, derisively. 

"Well, I'm glad it didn't take a death in the family to teach me right from wrong!" She says tartly. "And you have to admit, he deserved to be punished for what he did."

Talia rounds on her incredulously. "What are you saying?" She asks. "That he deserved to die? For God's sake! He was only fourteen!"

"He should have accepted his punishment with humility," Jay says. "If he'd done that, he would have been alright, wouldn't he? Honour thy father and thy mother. That's a precept everyone should live by. If people were morally disciplined, the demons wouldn't be able to corrupt their corpses, nor would they obtain nourishment from them."

Talia looks steadfastly ahead, her lips pressed tightly together. She is too upset by this even to speak.

"You unfeeling little bitch!" Dorton exclaims. She starts towards Jay, fists clenched, her eyes blazing. Talia raises a hand, pleading with her to stop; doesn't fighting, is not going to make her feel any better. 

Dorton grabs Jay's arm, and holds her back for a minute, letting the others walk on ahead. "As soon as the captain arrives, you're on report." She hisses.

"For telling the truth?" Jay asks, indignantly.

"For nearly killing somebody back there! Or have you conveniently forgotten about that? You're a bloody liability, Jay, and the sooner you're out of this squad the better! The fact that you also happen to be a poisonous, fanatical, little bitch, has got nothing to do with it!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After breakfast, everybody stationed at the fort, assembles in the courtyard, to greet the new captain. For despite his lowly rank, Lucius' name confers considerable status. Though if the truth were known, he actually resents this, just as much as he resents everything else that comes to him, courtesy of his father. Though, of course, if the opportunity does arise for him to use his name to further his own interests, his resentment never extends far enough to prevent him from doing so.

Talia turns to Buller, who is standing nearby.

"What's he like? She whispers, surreptitiously. "Our new captain? Do you have any idea?" 

Buller shrugs. He had encountered Lucius, briefly, while he was stationed in Willendorf and he had not been impressed. 

"Best you make up your own mind." He says. 

Talia is still puzzling over this rather enigmatic reply, when the doors to the keep are opened. The men are called to attention and Lucius walks out behind the fort commander, to inspect the troops. 

He is not in a particularly pleasant mood. The move to Meridian had been bad enough, but to be posted out here, miles from civilization, is, he thinks, quite intolerable. His father could not be reasoned with, of course. He had ignored all Lucius' protests, speaking fondly of the time that he had spent at the fortress in his own youth, over thirty years ago, and boring his son rigid with tales of the exciting life he had led. 

The duties Lucius is to perform, do not strike him as being at all exciting. He thinks demeaning, would be a more appropriate word. His squad is to be on almost permanent escort duty, ensuring the safety of civilians from the class he despises most of all, the merchants. 

Traders who travel the roads to Meridian are in constant danger of attack, from brigands during the day, and from both brigands and vampires after dark. Those who have contracts to supply the Sarafan are given military protection, or rather, they are permitted to hire it, for everything comes at a price. It is an arrangement borne of necessity, for travel without armed guard is impossible and the Sarafan need food and goods to be brought into the city, but it is the Sarafan who gain the most from the deal, over-charging the merchants for their protection, and forcing them to sell their goods at cripplingly low prices. 

Today, Lucius's troop is to escort an arms dealer into the city. He is carrying a consignment of new weapons, and he is to be taken to the Sarafan Lord, as soon as he arrives. Lucius is not impressed by this commission. It seems to him that his father's sole aim in moving him has been to belittle and degrade him as much as possible. No one had ordered him to mind the shop-keepers in Willendorf, he reflects. There, he had been assigned proper, soldierly duties, duties that befitted his status. Now, he is even under orders to be polite to the merchant. "Scrupulously polite," the fort commander tells him. 

"Since when, does a Sarafan knight have to be polite to anyone?" Lucius asks him. "Except a superior officer, of course, Sir." He adds.

The fort commander grimaces impatiently. Already, he has taken a strong disliking to this youth.

"I **am** your superior officer." He reminds him. "And if I order you to be polite to someone, then that is what you will be. No matter who it is! Now, stop wasting my time and get out!"

Lucius strides out of the room, only just remembering to salute. He is simmering with anger. Being polite to commoners, serving their needs, risking his own life to save their miserable necks, surely the commander can see that such things are beneath dignity of any Sarafan knight? 

The prospect of spending a night in town had been one small consolation, but now he has a chance to read his orders, Lucius realizes he is to be denied even that. His squad is to be quartered in the garrison at the city gate, but they do not have permission to enter the city itself.

_I'm not taking this. I'll resign!_ He tells himself, but even he isn't convinced by these rebellious words. Deep down, Lucius knows he is going to do exactly as his father wishes, just as he always does, for he has never managed to stand up to Agrippa, no matter how unreasonable his demands. The only people he will be able to force into showing him some respect, it seems, are his troops.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, the fortress is put on full-alert, for Geddes had brought word from Agrippa, warning that an attack is almost certainly imminent and even more alarming, the arms dealer has failed to arrive. A runner is dispatched and he comes back with the news that one of the carts has broken down, not five miles from the fortress. The fort commander orders Lucius to take his troop and investigate. 

The commander is glad of the opportunity to get rid of Lucius, even for a short time, for his presence makes him uneasy. The Sarafan Lord's purge of suspected traitors is already spreading ripples of disquiet through the Sarafan high command. Rank no longer seems to offer any protection, and paranoia is rife amongst those who would have considered their positions unassailable, only a few short weeks ago. No one is sure where this is going stop, or who they can trust among their comrades. Accusations are flying, and certain people have no scruples about using this opportunity to settle old scores. 

In this climate of mistrust and suspicion, the fort commander is understandably wary of having Agrippa's son foisted upon him, and despite the reasons Agrippa has given for placing Lucius under his command, he still suspects he may be harbouring a spy. As a result, he has decided that Lucius should spend as much time as possible outside the fort, on active duty, leaving him little time to pry into the commander's affairs. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as the horses are ready and his men are assembled in the yard, Lucius gives the order to move out. They stare at him in surprise, and to his extreme annoyance, nobody stirs.

"I said, move!" He roars at them.

Talia steps forwards. 

"Permission to speak, Sir." She says, saluting him respectfully, "But isn't it traditional to visit the chapel first?"

Lucius advances towards her, his face twisted by an ugly sneer.

"Spare me your peasant piety!" He snarls at her. He looks contemptuously at his men. "Is that what's wrong with you?"

The men look down, shuffling awkwardly. Ward had always held with the tradition of saying a prayer before they left, nothing fancy, just a simple blessing. Over the months they served under him, the ritual has a gained deep significance, for Ward had lost very few men, fewer than most captains. While they would be loath to argue with their captain, most of these men believe that observing this rite has brought them good luck, giving them protection in their struggle against Kain's dark forces.

Lucius steps up to Talia. In his mind, she is now entirely responsible for this breach of discipline, even though in reality, she has merely supplied the reason for it.

"Impudent slut!" He snaps. "Did I say you could speak?" He takes hold of her chin, squeezing it hard between iron-clad fingers. "Later," he says, "in my chambers, you can get down on your knees and open your mouth, but not now. Do you understand?" 

Talia glares at him; she is speechless with indignation. Ward would never have spoken so crudely. "And you can call me Sir, while you're doing it!" Lucius adds, turning away.

Talia curls her lip derisively. She is not going to let this contemptible bastard speak to her like that, and get away with it. 

"Well, that confirms the rumours." She says quietly, but still loud enough for everyone else to hear.

Lucius halts, mid-stride and turns back towards her. He cannot believe she would dare to answer him back.

"Rumours?" He asks. "What rumours?"

"Well, if I'm going to be able to call you 'Sir'," she sneers, "I won't exactly have my mouth full, will I?"

There is a snigger from somewhere in the ranks. Beside her, Dorton bites her lip, hard, desperately trying to suppress a smile. At the same instant, Lucius' heavily mailed glove deals Talia a hard slap across the face. Its sharp edge snags her lip, tearing a jagged gash across the corner of her mouth. The bruised flesh starts to swell, almost immediately, and it is bleeding profusely. Talia puts up a hand, dabbing the throbbing wound with her sleeve. 

"When we get back," Lucius tells her, "you're going to be very sorry you said that. Very sorry indeed!"

Talia stands her ground and glowers at him. Seeing she does not intend to back down, Lucius turns away again, soothing his ruffled pride by thinking of how best he might punish the defiant little bitch. 

Talia's mouth is already full of blood. She spits it onto the cobbles where Lucius was standing the moment before, her expression completely contemptuous. At this moment, she has no regrets.    

"I'm glad I said it." She whispers to Dorton. "Whatever he does. I'm glad. And I am **not** apologizing."

Dorton does not reply, but she has a nasty feeling that Lucius is going to be demanding a lot more than a simple apology.

Once more Lucius gives the order to move out, and this time the men comply, falling in and standing by the gate, though they are none too happy that Talia is still among their number. Geddes, attempts to reason with his captain. 

Sir," he says, quietly. "She really shouldn't go out like that. She's bleeding." Lucius glances over to the men; they are looking askance at Talia, instinctively edging away from her. "Our orders are to investigate, Sir." Geddes continues. "We don't want to draw unwanted attention to ourselves. If she comes out with us, in that condition, she'll undoubtedly attract the demons to us." 

Lucius frowns. So, this is what his father has saddled him with, a bunch of milk-sops.

"Bleeding, is something women do," he says. "And while it may seem unnatural, it doesn't usually kill them. I'm not leaving that bitch to sit by the fire while we go out. If she wants to play soldiers, she can start acting like one. Now fall in, before I have you on report for insubordination!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are scarcely two hours of daylight left when they finally leave the fort, the men are all on horseback while the more lightly dressed women are on foot. Lucius is determined to assert his authority, which means that Talia is still among their number, and they have not visited the chapel. In consequence, it is a very unhappy little troop that makes its way onto the Highway. 

Dorton had not dared to carry out her threat of reporting Jay to Lucius. After what had happened to Talia, she had felt it would be unwise to approach their captain with any complaint. As a result, Jay is still with them. 

Talia is pale and unusually quiet, hardly speaking to the other two girls, though it is not the prospect of impending punishment that is occupying her thoughts. This is the first time she has gone out without lighting a candle for her brother, and she is still brooding over the things Jay had said about him, earlier. Implying his death was somehow, his own fault and that the vampires had drained his blood because it was morally tainted. She casts an angry glance in Jay's direction, but as usual, Jay is straggling behind and does not notice. 

Her lip is still bleeding and it shows no sign of stopping; already, her cuff is soaked with blood. Talia sighs, she wishes she were not here and she knows everyone else must be feeling the same. The simple fact of her presence, means they are all in danger. 

She is walking in front of the party, well ahead of the men, with Dorton and Jay by her side, because this is where Lucius has placed them, in spite of the fact that he and the others are in full armour and it would be more usual for the girls to bring up the rear. In that position, they would not only be less vulnerable, but they would also be much better placed to provide the men with cover in the event of an attack. However, while every one present knows this formation benefits no one, they have also seen that their new captain is impervious to reason, so no one has even tried to discuss the matter with him. 

Everyone, except for Lucius, perhaps, has a sense of impending disaster.

____________________________________________________________________________

_Review Responses (up to chpt 5) ___

_Nocturnally Damned:_ _Ah you old romantic, you! One mention of a nice sword and the girl goes completely to mush! Was thinking of you when I wrote that bit, actually . No way, was I going to let Rahab off that easily, though! That would be far too simple for my twisted little brain. This way, the situation still retains a little… potential._

Ayden   _*walks in looking worried and rather threatening at the same time_*_ I really didn't like the way you said that._

Sereda  _*tries to look innocent* What?_

Ayden   'Potential' _*draws sword*_

Sereda  _*calmly* Put it away, Ayden. Unless, you want me to revise chpt 4 and have Rahab make you a present of  frilly apron and a handsome feather duster!_

Ayden  _You wouldn't! _

Sereda *_fingers poised threateningly over keyboard* Just watch me! You'll be dusting that cathedral 'til the end of the story, if you don't behave!_

Ayden  *_throws up hands in disgust* Bloody authors! You're more power-crazed than Kain! *wanders back into story, sulking* _

_Now we've got rid of him, back to the responses._

_Syvia:__ Yeah, I love the lts too! Very hard to make them behave nicely tho', but then, they wouldn't be any fun if they were nice! ;) I'm pleased Berrin has gained a fan, I'm fond of him too! I think he may make an appearance or two in the future!_

_Tom T Thomson__: Well, you don't say a lot, but what you have said is very positive, and you do make the effort to review! (hint, hint to anyone else lurking out there!) Thanks, I appreciate it._


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